


Sigyn's Discovery

by Margo Sloan (craziegurl215)



Series: A Saga for Sigyn and Loki [1]
Category: Freyr - Fandom, Loki (Marvel) - Fandom, Loki laufeyson - Fandom, Marvel (Comics), Marvel (Movies), Thor (Comics), Thor (Movies), Thor - All Media Types, sigyn - Fandom
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-04
Updated: 2014-02-09
Packaged: 2018-01-11 03:41:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 23,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1168240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/craziegurl215/pseuds/Margo%20Sloan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sigyn, a young palace worker, was once saved by the child prince Loki, and admired him from afar. Since his apparent death on Svartalfheim, her station has changed from high servant to Frigga the queen, to lowly presence in the great hall. But all of that is about to change when she discovers that Odin the Allfather is not all he seems to be...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Where One Should Not Be

Odin sits on his throne, breathing heavily. He tires after this long day, full of harsh judgment. Criminals are brought forth to his throne, awaiting a call on their fate; some are murderers, some are prisoners from other realms, and all are guilty. One can only send so many men and creatures to the Asgardian cells below before it takes its toll, constantly reminding him of the carnage that took place there mere months ago.  
“Away with you all,” he sighs, dismissing his guards and reminding himself that his duties as King are more often bureaucratic than exciting. He stays at the throne for a few moments, pondering his exit, tapping his fingers on the scepter beside him rhythmically. When he does finally stand, he does so laboriously, leaning far too heavily on the left hip as he descends the stairs. His steps are slow; deliberate, almost to pass the time as he heads towards his chambers.   
He stops short at Frigga’s room, the door cracked open. Who could have opened it? The answer is irrelevant, and he enters.  
Each step echoes in the empty room. The balcony beckons to him, open and exposed to the realm, but he does not wish to be seen here. Odin sits on the steps where she passed, where one of her blue robes was placed on the floor. He picks it up, holding it between his hands, raising it to his face to breathe in the last remaining scent of her. His fists tighten, and he almost begins to weep, when there is a tap at the door.  
A young woman enters; she is tall, with flowing dark hair that reaches her shoulders. The girl’s eyes are dark as well, and her expression is one of obedience and curiosity. She wears the attire of a palace worker, gray robes to the floor, still accentuating a slender figure. When the servant steps in, she hesitates before speaking:  
“Allfather, what troubles you?”  
He does not respond. His eye flickers from her gaze and down to the robe in his hands. His instinct tells him to command her away, but the girl’s innocence is genuine. Instead, he allows her to enter, by saying nothing.  
She makes her way to him, sitting on his left side on the steps. They stay together in silence for a few moments, as she looks around the room in awe. It seems clear she has not been in this room since before Frigga was killed, its emptiness hanging on the tall ceilings and large pillars. It was only by chance that she walked by shortly after he entered.  
“You must mourn so for her...” she trails, not sure what else to say. “We all do.”  
His silence is tacit agreement.  
“She was an honorable queen, beloved by all in our realm. It was tragic to lose her. What good could it do to dwell in your sadness?” This young woman is wise beyond her years, but blunt as well. Her convictions are strong. She is too bold to ask why he continues to mourn Frigga’s death after such a public display of tribute.  
Odin finally speaks. “What is your name, child?”  
“Sigyn,” she replies. It is an odd name, unique, but one that slips off the tongue with ease. “I have worked in the palace for many years, and served the queen.” It is not her place to speak to the Allfather, but her tension eases as she senses his comfort in having someone, anyone, to confide in. “We spent many days in this chamber together during your battles. Her worry over you never ceased.”  
He wonders how many moments Frigga spent on these steps, speaking with this girl, Sigyn. Odin did recognize her, though he would not give way to how.  
“I never thought I would have to worry for her safety over my personal battles.” The sentence ends with a sigh, and a tighter grasp of the robe. He still does not meet the girl’s gaze.  
Sigyn looks around the room again, and sees a small pedestal. Resting on it are the golden horns, the helmet of Loki, former prince of Asgard. This being his mother’s chambers, the relic does not surprise her. When Loki was imprisoned below in the dungeons, Frigga notoriously took hold of the helmet, clutching it to her breast, and shed a tear for her son.  
The young girl Sigyn, having been reared within the palace walls with her parents, knew all too well the stories of Loki and Thor, the royal brothers of all but blood. It was rumored among the people that Loki was not truly one of the Asgardians, but he was revered as a prince by most. And why not? Did he not battle with Thor, and defend the realm with his magic and skill? Where Thor had strength, Loki had the cunning wit to slay his daft enemies in dire circumstances. His crimes were matched, if not exceeded by, his great deeds of the past, but this mattered little to the judgment of Odin. When Frigga begged to save his life, she was hardly viewed as heroic to the masses. She showed him love, when the Allfather denied him even compassion. Since revealing the Jotunhiem blood within Loki, the young prince had imploded with distrust and malice towards the house of Odin.  
Thor had returned to Asgard with a tale of valor on Svartalfheim, where they had battled Malekith and his remaining soldiers. The fight was for all of Asgard, and Odin had left them without guidance, when Thor defied the orders to remain until the enemy attacked. Only Loki could lead the enemy away from the very gates of the palace, and so Thor risked his own head to use Loki’s skills. The story goes that Loki and Thor fought bravely against Algrim, the monster fighting in place of Malekith, when Loki gave his life to avenge Frigga and save Thor. Even now, Thor wears the emblem of his brother on his wrist guards, a constant reminder and testament that blood does not make brothers.  
Sigyn is too bold, but pulls her pride from deep within to ask him a burning question. “Allfather, do you not also mourn for the loss of your son? For the loss of Loki?”  
Only this gives him more pause than being asked about Frigga. “Do not ask me about things you know nothing about!” He snaps at her, finally meeting her gaze, “He was not my son. He was a traitor against Asgard. And you would be better served to know your place.”  
“Know my place?” She questions, backing away slightly. “I know that my place in this palace was to serve not only the queen of Asgard, but also her sons. Was he not honored within the house of Odin? Were we not bound to serve him as a protector as we were Thor?” Sigyn did not realize how much she cared for Loki until this moment, in her grief. “Have you paid him tribute in his death, as we did for Frigga on the sea?” She stands, walking to the helmet. Her hand is out to touch it, but she hesitates, and turns back to face Odin; he is still watching her. “He may have been a criminal in his grief, but he died a hero of Asgard.” She takes a long breath. “Forgive me, Allfather.” Sigyn turns toward the door as a single, hot tear streams down her cheek, and exits quickly.  
Odin stares in awe, both at the candor of this young woman, but also at her passion. He also cannot help but notice the flash of green beneath her robe, a cloth reserved for citizens much higher than her station.


	2. Cold Child, Saving Grace

The stars are the only lights in the sky this night. Sigyn taps quietly through the halls of the palace, returning to Frigga’s chamber. Her regret for speaking to the Allfather with such disdain and anger is upsetting; how could she be so ignorant as to think her words would have no consequence? As her feet fall one by one on the stone floors, she can hear little beyond the wide echoes of feasting from down the hall. She will not be caught this night.  
The torches light the halls deep in the palace, getting brighter as she closes in on the great hall. The firelight flashes deep shadows across her face. Sigyn is a young beauty, though she modestly covers herself. Her hair is often wrapped up, adorned with dull colored stones, and unnatural pigments do not mar her face. Tonight, her eyes are still swollen from tears; nevertheless, it does not mask her attraction. The clothes she wears are simple. In contrast, her mind is complex and witty. Her thoughts work faster than her mouth can lead, and it usually keeps her from getting into trouble. With the exception of this day, Sigyn is anything but particularly interesting to the house of Odin.  
Beneath her gray robes hangs a single sheet of green fabric, which she found in the laundry of Frigga’s room some time ago. She wears it as a second skirt to keep her warm, and to give remembrance to the prince who saved her life. Green was the color of Prince Loki’s formal cape, so much less gaudy than the red worn by his brother.  
This long walk to Frigga’s room reminds Sigyn of days spent in her childhood. She would often play within the palace walls as her parents worked. Where else was she to go? Despite the overwhelming glow of Asgard’s golden palace walls, large bowls of fire burned hot within the halls as they do now. They were an easy trap for a curious young girl. She rarely remembers details of those days, being so long forgotten, save for one cursed to her memory.  
...  
On a day long since past, as the servants of the Allfather brought forth yet another feast of battles won, Sigyn wandered off into the court. The feasts beckoned all noblemen and women to the great hall. Sigyn’s family usually prepared the food instead of partaking in it; such was customary for their station. Leaving her alone to keep from getting in the way, her parents sent her out into the empty palace, considering it a harmless place with all of Asgard gathered to the feast. Not as tall as her peers, Sigyn could not yet reach the flaming torches. They crackled with magic above her. She wore an old, tattered blue dress and stockings. Sigyn ran down the halls and stopped short to slide on the smooth floors; in a split second, she had fallen on the stone, slipping hard into a pedestal. The bowl of fire atop it fell onto the floor, still lit, enticing the girl to come closer.  
Sigyn looked to see if anyone was watching, and found herself alone with the flames. She turned back to the fire, crawling closer on her now injured leg. Before she could reach it with her hands, an ember cracked and startled her, lifting a single ash into the air and onto her clothes. At first, Sigyn didn’t notice and kept staring, hypnotized by the heat as it burned out. When she did finally detect the burning fabric, she cried out for help.  
Sigyn’s fear kept her frozen, staring at the bottom of her dress. She tried to kick with her good leg, only hurting the one she had just slammed into the stone. Desperate, she called out for help again, only to be swiftly approached by a young boy who looked not much older than she. What help could he possibly be? He looked Sigyn in the eye and knelt beside her, holding his hands above the fire. His eyes turned to the burn, concentrating. Sigyn stared at him, awed by the cool air rushing off his fingertips, suffocating the flames. Her leg was spared from injury beyond hitting the stone, though she could not say the same for her blue dress.  
The boy turned his gaze again to face her, smiling widely. This child, with deep green eyes that pierced through her even in youth, had saved her. His black hair fell in a few strands upon his face, and he brushed them away. He was dressed in formal clothing, armor too large for his stature, but Sigyn was sure his complexion had changed color - if even for a moment. She was not sure if she could believe her eyes; could he really have just gone a shade of blue before her? The boy jumped up and ran through the hall, much darker now with the missing light. Despite being told several times by her parents not to approach the royals of the house, Sigyn knew the boy had to be one of them. Who else would have been dressed in such a way at his age? Sigyn knew the boy must have been heading to the feast for his father, Odin, yet he chose to help the poor girl’s fiery predicament himself. For once, Sigyn was not invisible, and now she owed her small life to Prince Loki.  
As a young woman, Loki caught her eye once or twice, but Sigyn did not attempt to reach higher than her station. She admired from afar as he grew with her, returning from battles and finally growing into the armor; as a man, Loki was truly regal, slender and strong. His magic seemed to ooze from his form, hypnotizing even the most wary of the court. Eventually Loki would be honored in the great hall with his own feasts, only to be overshadowed by his boisterous older brother, Thor. It was hard to tell which one had more pretentious formals, with Thor in great golden wings and Loki with his horns. Sigyn had once seen Thor trip on his cape, clumsy and uncaring of anyone’s opinion except his father’s; it was amusing to say the least. But Loki carried himself differently. Taller, and more carefully, as if he was always certain that someone was watching. She admitted to herself more than once that if he had noticed her, she would not pass up the opportunity to thank him for his deed. The girl always felt she owed him something.  
Sigyn wept privately when she learned of his passing on Svartalfheim, revisiting the pillar where they met. He would never know her gratitude, and she would forever be burdened to carry her admiration.  
...  
Tonight, Sigyn walks those same halls toward the noble chambers, hoping to again see Odin and apologize for her misguided outburst. A she crests the corner, no one is in sight, save for a single guard thoughtlessly picking at his fingernails far down the hall. She notices that, like before, Frigga’s chamber door is cracked open, a light flickering through the space. Perhaps Odin never left, and is waiting for Frigga’s ghost to return; if not, Sigyn can enjoy the solitude. Again making light steps, the girl pushes the door a little further, stepping in without making a sound. She then, just as silently, completely closes the door behind her.  
Her eyes close, and she exhales a long sigh. When Sigyn turns, she can hear the hushed whispers of someone at the back of the chamber. Afraid she will be caught again where she is not supposed to be, Sigyn hides behind a pillar at the front of the room. The girl recognizes the voice as Odin’s, and is compelled to listen intently.  
“How could they have let you die? How could I have let you die?” Odin seems to ramble the same questions, difficult truths without an answer. “Why would Thor leave you to protect the mortal, and not allow me hence? How could they leave me there to rot when you needed my help?” Odin’s voice is cracking. He paces the room, never letting go of the robe. His hands appear to be shaking. Odin still leans hard on the left, though he doesn’t appear to be in physical pain from his leg any more than he is from his heart.  
His words do not make sense to Sigyn. ‘How could they leave him there to rot?’ Was Odin not at the front of the battle, along with Thor? His time spent in this chamber must have sent him into madness. Even his voice has intensity, a quality that she has not heard before, almost as though he is barking out his exasperations. Sigyn blames herself for leaving him in this state and not telling anyone.  
“Please forgive me.” He pauses, and Sigyn thinks she hears him sobbing. Her heart is aching to listen without input. She considers giving him privacy and sneaking back out.  
“Please forgive me, mother.”  
This last omission startles her. Sigyn peeks around the pillar to look at Odin’s face. As she does, a shimmer of light surrounds him, fading back to reveal an entirely separate countenance. The sound of his voice changes from raspy and quiet, to deep and choked with pain, as he keeps begging for forgiveness. His armor peeled back in the light, showing now as black and gold, with threads of iridescent green intertwining the fabric. He is taller, now slender, and no longer appears frail. Frigga’s robe is still up against his face, whoever’s face it is, hiding his identity.   
But Sigyn knows instantly, by the fall of his black strands of hair, exactly who stands before her.  
Her shock is only matched by her doubt, and she cannot stifle the gasp. He turns fast, matching her eyes. Her first reaction is to head for the door. While she turns, the pedestal holding the helmet is knocked over, loudly clanging on the floor, only adding chaos to the precious seconds the girl has to escape. Sigyn stumbles toward the door without looking back. With a flick of his hand, the door locks, and she is trapped there. Standing with no protection, Loki stares at Sigyn, revealed in his true and broken form, as she falls to the floor.


	3. True Form

Loki approaches Sigyn, cautiously. Since he took over the throne as Odin, no one has seen his true form. All believe that he is dead. He kneels beside her to pick her up, careful not to make any more noise for a guard to investigate. Her body is light in his arms, warm, and he carries her to his mother’s empty bed before Sigyn regains consciousness.  
Her words from earlier in the day have stuck with him. If Loki had given Odin the chance, would he have seen a memorial? There has been little talk of honor with his name since he returned to Asgard, save from this woman. What a fool he had been, to not take the opportunity to build a great legacy in place of hiding his identity. But now, his focus needs to be on his next actions instead of dwelling on what could have been.  
He sits down next to her. She looks so peaceful from this angle, as though she is in a deep trance. Loki again sees the green beneath her robe, and recognizes it as his formal cape. His mother had taken it, along with his helmet, when he was imprisoned. How did Sigyn find it, and why would she wrap it around herself in such a way, hidden instead of displayed?  
Loki recognizes the girl. He had earlier, but couldn’t tell her so. They were only children when they met, and he had put out a fire on her dress. Loki couldn’t remember if he had done so with water, or by snuffing it out; what did it matter. She was beneath him.  
But the girl’s dark eyes stayed with him. They catch Loki’s attention even in this state. Sigyn had obviously admired Loki since they were children, and he would catch her looking at him as they grew older. The girl grew into her beauty and hid it well from his greedy brother’s eyes. As she lies on the bed now, her dark chocolate hair wisps around her neck and curls ever so slightly at the ends. Sigyn’s sharp features, from her well-formed eyebrows to the curve of her puckering lips, beckon to Loki. He stares at her on the bed, now aware of her figure beneath the gray robe, and forces himself to look away.  
Loki admits to himself in this moment that he had, in the past, wanted her. But no matter what beauty she possessed, her station was unacceptable. He was entitled.  
“Is someone in there?” The guard from the hallway heard the crash.  
Quickly igniting his disguise, Loki answers the door as Odin.  
“I am here mourning the queen. It is my house. Go about your way.”  
The guard bows, and asks no more questions.  
Loki closes the door, and goes back towards the bed, revealing himself again. He feels so exposed in this space, and yet trusts that if Sigyn should wake and remember what she saw that it would remain secret.  
Sigyn stirs. She opens her eyes slowly, her head still aching from the fall and the confusion. When she looks up, she can see him again. He stands with an intimidating power, but does not appear directly menacing. His expression is tired, and his eyes show the pain he is still feeling from a few moments before. Loki was always grand, but at this angle he seems taller, more of a man than before. His arms are behind his back. He had been staring at her, waiting for her to wake, but for what purpose? To kill her?  
“Well, well, what are we going to do about this?” Loki’s language is much like that of a snake. So smooth and articulated, he could have said anything and it would have sounded dangerous. He takes a single step forward, slowly, eyes to the floor before standing straight again.  
“I am sorry, Lord.” Sigyn doesn’t know what else to say.  
“Sorry? Well, Sigyn, what exactly are you sorry for?”  
“I am sorry that I came to...” her eyes dart to the floor. She can’t help but want to stare at him. “That I came into this chamber when I shouldn’t have.”  
“Ah, but that isn’t really your crime now, is it?” His kind demeanor has dropped, and now he simply looks sinister. Loki is calculating his responses, hoping to scare the girl into submission. It seems clear to Sigyn that he does mean to harm her.  
“L... Loki...” Sigyn stammers; she has never said his name aloud to anyone other than Odin this day. At least, she thought he was Odin. “Where is the Allfather?”  
“Do not ask me things of which you cannot understand. Did I not already tell you this today?” He is yelling at her now, but she holds firm in her question, and doesn’t cower lower. She simply raises her head and looks him in the eye. She squints.  
“Can it really be you?”  
Loki had not considered that this woman might not believe her eyes. He is both angry and comfortable speaking with her. Angry because he has been caught, and comfortable because she does not immediately accuse him. Loki changes his play, and decides to sit next to her.  
Sigyn sits up, inching farther from him. She still senses that he is a danger to her. Having heard stories of his battles, she knows that even the form she sees might not really be him. But before she can process what she’s asked him, Loki leans forward, and moves his slender index finger to his lips in a shushing motion. His other hand is moving ever closer, stealthily, until it has grasped her forearm.  
The hand he held in front of his face grabs her other arm in a surprise attack. She cannot speak, only gasps, her eyes widening with fear. Loki pulls her arms parallel in front of her. The man pulls Sigyn in, moves his face close to hers, and hisses at her.  
“You know I could kill you now, you fiend, coming into my mother’s chambers without permission. What right do you think you have? What right do you think you have to question me?” Loki is attempting to be intimidating, but suddenly is overcome with the need to find out the real answer. Only Loki’s anger is getting through. He knows that he won’t harm the girl, but she does not, and so refuses to close her eyes. Tears are streaming down Sigyn’s face, and Loki feels her tremble. She can’t decide to clench her hands in a fist or hold them open in surrender.  
Sigyn can’t focus on anything but the tears on her face and Loki’s cool breath. She shifts the attention to her arms. Loki is hurting her with his hands, but the girl cannot help but think to herself that if he were to take her now, she would submit. He is touching her, giving attention to her. The forceful action is sweet in the girl’s still overwhelming admiration for Loki’s beauty.  
“I... I’m sorry... I’m sorry...” Those are all the words she can choke out. “I have... I have...”  
“You have to what? You have to tell someone?” He interrupts her, grinning, but to Sigyn, Loki is barring his teeth.  
“I have to tell you...” Her inner promise is aching to get out. He could kill her any moment, and she would have to live in the underworld with the knowledge that she didn’t complete her cause.  
Loki pulls her even closer, noses almost touching. Yet, Sigyn does not shrink to get away, instead inhaling loudly at the touch of his face. The man aches to hear her final confession.  
“I have to tell you... ... thank you... thank you...” Those last words escape her dark mauve lips while she breaks down in complete, fearful and relieving sobs. Sigyn kept her little vow, thanking him for the service he did in his youth, but she is now feeling ignorant in her confession. ‘What a time to pull that out,’ she thinks. Sigyn can feel his grip loosening; he is no longer so close to her. Her eyes are shut tight. She feels him push her arms back at her, leaving her only to clutch her chest to keep her heart from beating out. In this moment, her only companions are her tears. In this moment, only letting all of her emotion out matters.  
Loki is startled by this admission. He stands now, next to the bed, as he was when she woke. Now he stares down at her, understanding her last words, knowing that she means him no ill will. Sigyn is loyal to Loki, the only fidelity he’s known since before Frigga was killed. He feels his eyes heat up again, his nose itching; he tries to stifle tears by bringing one arm up to his face and the other across his chest. When Sigyn finally opens her eyes again, she is rocking back and forth, and looks up at him. The man is biting a fingernail, pulls it away, and now stands in a shrunken state. Loki raises a single eyebrow, and says:  
“Well. I suppose we are at an impasse.”


	4. Missing Compassion

The two of them stare awkwardly, Sigyn still sobbing almost uncontrollably, and Loki watching her. They cannot leave, and yet they cannot stay.  
Loki finally breaks the silence. “Come now. This has to stop.” He sits down next to her again, this time aware of her vulnerability and her fear of him.  
Sigyn backs away even farther. Her tears have not made her any less aware. Perhaps now is the time to leave, escape, before he changes his mind. She tries to edge away again, only to be grabbed on the arm.  
“Ah, ah, ah, we still have much to talk about.” He lets her go, but with a look of discipline. His caution is only fueled by his need to keep his identity hidden, and his knowledge that the guard still waits outside the door. Both of them seem aware that the night is dwindling on; even the persistent hum of celebrations in the great hall is growing distant.  
“I asked you a question. Where is the Allfather?” Sigyn repeated her question, this time sounding more curious than accusing. Loki has to remember that not everyone in Asgard holds disdain for his stepfather.  
“He is again in the Odinsleep. He has been there since I returned, guised as a soldier. I suppose learning of my apparent death had again sent him reeling; though, I would never know it. I placed a spell upon him.” Loki recalls the story to Sigyn, coming back from Svartalfheim, telling tales of finding ‘Loki’s’ body, and no signs of other life on the dark planet. When he approached Odin, already weak, the Allfather again fell. Loki carried him quickly into his stepfather’s chambers, placing him beneath the shielded resting place. He cast a spell for Odin not to wake, and had since been acting in his place.  
“Has it been so long? You returned before Thor came from Midgard?” Sigyn did not hide her puzzled expression very well. All that time, he was right here, doing what all had claimed he could not do: rule Asgard as a just and good king. But what of Thor’s story? Did he not protect his brother and get revenge on his mother’s killer? Could that have been a trick as well?  
“All that Thor has told is true. I just do a better job at hiding my fate than he believes. In all our years together, Thor continues to fall for my illusions.” Loki is smiling, but this time it is genuine and not menacing. Sigyn seems to exhale a sigh of relief, grateful that this man has not killed her ruler, grateful that he seems to have no intention of harming her. In the time since Loki started telling his side, her tears have stopped.  
“What will you have me do? Is it your wish to send me away?” Sigyn offers the solution as an alternative to death or magic.  
“I do not wish for you to leave. I have not decided what yet to do with you. But until that time, you must tell no one of my survival.” Loki looks at her with sincerity, and for a moment, Sigyn has a lapse of good judgment, and inches back closer to him. They are parallel, but facing opposite directions, his left side against her left side, looking at each other.  
Sigyn cannot resist her desire. She leans inward, reaching her right hand. Cautiously, awkwardly, but mostly without surety, she touches his hair.  
“Your hair has gotten longer since I last laid eyes on you.” This soft touch is unfamiliar to Loki since his mother passed. He does not move; instead, his eyes widen slightly, almost beyond detection, while she continues to stroke the hair. His expression is still cautious, his lips almost pursed. Loki’s gaze is not upon Sigyn, but on her hand, and how it moves back and forth before him. This goes on for a few minutes in silence. Sigyn is making no secret of her admiration; could this be a dream?  
The only sound between them is their alternating breaths. Loki is still puzzled by the girl’s touch. It is so welcoming, and yet so foreign. Loki’s brow furls. Sensing irritation, Sigyn pulls her hand away. When she stops, Loki finds himself looking at his knees, curved on the bed in front of him. He looks to his side and sees her other hand, still placed in such a way next to her that she won’t fall over. For a few moments, Loki registers a cold spot on his face where her hand brushed his cheek; it was tender, caring, and genuine. When Sigyn has repositioned herself, and the awkward silence between them has returned, Loki lifts his left hand and touches hers. He can hear her breathing, almost detecting her heartbeat, both of them unsure of the next step.  
To Sigyn, the few moments are an eternity. His strong, slender fingers investigate her hand. She wears no jewelry. Her palms are calloused; working hands, but not rough to the touch like his. Loki traces a scar on her thumb. It must be a cooking accident, no doubt. Her wrist is small but strong, leading to the forearms he grasped too tightly. Sigyn’s pulse is visible. He notices how warm she feels and imagines that he must be cold to her; on the other end, she considers his touch exciting and tender. It is not as she expected, if she expected anything at all. But Sigyn does not register a temperature, only her overbeating heart.  
In a swift motion, he lifts her hand up to his face, palm to his cheek. They both say nothing. Sigyn notices him tearing up in the silence, and understands his gesture is a call to tenderness that he has been denied for so long.


	5. A Promise Made

When the moment between them passes, he places her hand back on the bed. It is still wet with tears. Sigyn fidgets, wanting to keep touching him, comforting him, but holds back. The boldness she had earlier has dissipated, and she doesn’t even ask him to reveal the source of his sorrow. She is already on dangerous ground, regardless of how comfortable she feels sitting next to him. On cue, Loki again breaks the silence.  
“Now, what have done with my cape?”  
Sigyn is puzzled.  
Loki reaches back and tugs at the green fabric peeking out from her robe. Suddenly, Sigyn is embarrassed in her realization of what the fabric must, obviously, be.  
“Um... uh...” She doesn’t have a good answer, and is pulling her robe downward to cover it. “Let me give it back to you.”  
She edges the bed to remove it. In true form again, he touches her forearm. “No, you keep it.” This time, his touch is different. Familiar. It is no longer the touch of a man trying to keep her from escaping. It’s the touch of a man who wants her to stay next to him, simply because he wants her there.  
“I took it from this room after I got word that you passed; I didn’t know that it belonged to you. I must have sat on those steps for hours, staring at your helmet.” Sigyn’s admissions are flowing, but she can’t help but wonder if she’s making too much of a spectacle of herself. Yes, she admired him, but she had no intention of trying to become a royal mistress. She had met a few of Thor’s lovers in her time, all wanton young women who never got a second glance. And how could she compete with their close friend, Lady Sif, who always got the attention and admiration of the warriors?  
“You were not invisible to the people of Asgard. You were not an outcast that people denied. There were some of us, many of us, who cared for you, and thought that you had everything we needed in a ruler.” Sigyn’s trying to give him confidence that she is not trying mere flattery to save her own neck; her words to the assumed Odin were no less true now than earlier.  
“I’ve seen you before, Sigyn.” It was still odd to hear her name escape his lips. “But I never took you for the weeping type.”  
“It is a rare event, indeed.” She admits that she hasn’t cried so much in ages. It’s giving her a headache. “But can you really be shocked, with what you’ve given me to think about this night?”  
Loki is not surprised, and is relieved to have someone to share his secret with. How serendipitous that he would find a confidant, and he was almost certain he wouldn’t have to kill her to keep his secret quiet.  
“How long until the day begins?” Sigyn has just considered that they’ve wasted much of the night in this room. She stands from the bed, but gets up too quickly, and stumbles. Loki, still sitting, stands in time to catch her from falling.  
“Now, now, you will remind me too much of Thor if you keep tripping all over yourself.” Sigyn smiles for the first time since she came into the room. She rights herself, and looks at him. The girl has to curse herself silently to keep from leaning all her weight against his strong chest, and tears her gaze away from his beckoning lips. Sigyn walks past Loki to the balcony to gauge the time of day.  
“The dawn is about to break, Loki.” He doesn’t respond, but gives Sigyn a look of questioning and concern. She knows what for.  
“I will keep your secret. The only thing I ask in return is that you do not harm me, Lord.” Sigyn gazes back at him a final time.  
Loki approaches her. Standing next to him, even though she is tall for a woman, he still seems to tower. He is still weighing his risks before giving her an answer. Precious moments pass as the realm comes back to life from the night.  
Staying out of the view of the balcony, he pulls her in a quick embrace.  
“I won’t harm you, Sigyn. You set me free.” When he lets go, he appears again as Odin the Allfather, and dismisses her.


	6. Apprehension

Sigyn rushes down the halls to her own chamber, hoping to get a hurried hour of sleep in before her duties start. She rests on her bed, but cannot keep her mind from racing. Could it have been an illusion? It isn’t impossible that Loki is setting her up. But she can’t help but feel the imprint of Loki’s touch on her arms, on her hands. How gently he caught her in the air. And the embrace when he said she set him free.  
But today is not yesterday, and she must remember her place. She is but a palace drone, meant neither to be seen nor heard. She is grateful that her interaction with Odin was not real, and that she did not have to face the consequence of a trial, as could be expected in normal circumstances. Sigyn wishes that her interactions with Loki could provide a guarantee of safety; however, a nag in her heart tells her, 'This isn't over yet.'  
It seems there will be no time for sleep. The kitchens ware still piled high with the remains of last night’s feast. Her job today is to clean up the mess. Though the rooms and parties were grand, the carnage of dishes can not be described as such. There are mountain-like piles of plates, accompanied by equally disgusting mounds of silverware. ‘Manual labor builds character,’ at least that’s what her father had told her before he passed.  
She starts by running water in the sinks, looking down to see Loki’s cape peeking out beneath her uniform. She quickly pulls it up so that it can’t be seen. Today of all days, she must be inconspicuous, as the other servants are already asking her where she was the night before.  
“I was ill, and could not come to help.” Sigyn is not a good liar, but the others are not good at finding tells. For now, her weak alibi will suffice.  
Despite having an assignment in the great hall, Sigyn sees very little nobility here. When she was servant to the queen, much of her time was spent in the upper floors of the palace, observing. Since Frigga’s death, only the most experienced servants are allowed there without special orders. Those kinds of requests are not common, nor are they taken lightly. Being called into the chamber of Odin the Allfather is rare if you are not called to receive judgment for a crime, such as stealing from the palace, or being suspected as a criminal.  
Sigyn starts her work cleaning. Apart from getting no sleep, this day is not unlike any other. As long as none of her coworkers develop the ability to read her mind, she will probably forget the night and go back to her regular life.  
So she hopes.  
The day passes on. By mid-day, the mountains in the kitchen have been reduced to less than half their size. Sigyn’s hands are ridged with the water, but it helps relieve the calluses. Unknown to all, she practices her sword skills in whatever spare time she has; even when she was a little girl, playing with fire, she wanted to be a warrior. Perhaps that’s why she admired Lady Sif for her strength and attention. Sigyn was fairly good on her own, though she had lost grip of her weapon once and sliced her thumb. To keep from being marked a planning criminal, she blamed it on her time in the kitchen.  
She drains another batch of hot water and takes a small break. Sigyn knows that by the time she finishes the final round of dishes, another will come pouring in. The washer’s work is never done. But her life is simple, rarely complicated by anything beyond fantasy. She sometimes envied the lives of the noblemen and women who were always attending parties in elaborate outfits, adorned with metal and jewels. Even the servants that worked on the floors of the most highly adorned people became pets of a sort. Sigyn was grateful to have worked with Frigga, a position she gained only because of the work her own mother had done. The servantry is one of the few places in Asgard where nepotism makes a difference outside of the throne room.  
Sigyn remembers Frigga as calm and kind, always putting her needs last behind the men in her life, be it the Allfather or her sons. Despite the queen’s worry over their many battles, she was far from helpless. Her passing was just as much shocking because Frigga could not defend herself, as it was hurtful that no one had saved her. To admit it now would be foolish, but the queen herself taught Sigyn how to fight.  
When Sigyn’s hands maintain a normal shape again, she stands to go back to the kitchen. Instead of being greeted by the usual mid-day cooks, two tall guards approach her. She feels her pulse quicken, and her throat become dry. She looks at them as if she has nothing to fear, and keeps a cool head about her.  
“Odin the Allfather requests your presence in the Judgment Hall.” It can’t be considered a throne room if the only reason people go there is to be punished.  
“Can you tell me what crime I have committed?” Her initial worries seem to be proven correct, and she was not let go to live on peacefully. Sigyn is hoping that her death will be swift, and that her fate is not to spend eternity in the dungeons below, alone. Though should that be her punishment for being too bold with the king, whether that king be Odin or Loki, it changes her current circumstances little.  
“Odin requests your presence. If you have committed a crime, surely that is his reason, and you will receive swift and fair judgment.”


	7. A New Station

It has been ages since Sigyn walked down this hallway. Has it really? Or has it been merely hours? Being trailed by two clanking guards makes the journey no less nerve-wracking. Sigyn replays the previous night in her head, cursing herself for believing that Loki, known widely as the God of Mischief, could possibly have been trusted in his word that he would bring her no harm.  
Her fear turns to anger. Maybe it will be easier to face the false king with an air of defiance and betrayal. Sigyn clearly is just a pawn. Her life is dispensable. The girl repeats these things in her mind to prepare herself; she has no more tears to shed over her imagined indiscretion.  
As they get closer to the throne, Sigyn can see another criminal being led down the dark, cold stairs to the dungeons below. The guards behind her push Sigyn's back, forcing her to keep making the labored and heavy steps forward. She feels as though her legs are hip-deep in thick mud, stealing her strength and conviction.  
Odin sits at his throne, looking harsh and weak. His good eye cloudy, gray, half hidden with the lid closed over. Even though his body is covered in heavy leather and armor, Sigyn can tell that his physique is not the chiseled legend the people of Asgard believe. The disguise is uncanny, a perfect representation of Odin’s form, as only she knows. The only giveaway, now that she looks, is his posture; Odin always sits straight in his throne, higher than all, whereas now he is leaning on his left side. Cool and collected, as if Loki is unaware that his suave nature cannot be disguised so easily.  
Sigyn is placed in the center of the room, facing Odin. He looks at her with his eye, looking up and down, making her feel exposed. He is choosing his words wisely.   
“Sigyn, servant of the great hall, yes?” Odin asks her as if they have never met.  
“Yes, Allfather.”  
“It has come to my attention that you served the queen, Frigga, prior to her death.” He swallows hard, and still appears to be sifting through a barrel of phrases. “Correct?”  
“Yes, Allfather.”  
“You now work in the kitchens below. Is this also correct?”  
“Yes, Allfather.” Sigyn feels like every answer is dejavu. Where is this going?  
“Well then. As a result of your experience in these chambers, I have requested your assistance as my personal servant. I trust this will be an improvement from the kitchen cleaning?” Odin may be Loki in disguise, but there is no amusement in his request. It is serious, a job offer, a higher station.  
Sigyn weighs her options, and considers it to be neither a blessing nor a curse to be offered this position. But would it be possible to play the ruse straight, and not reveal what she knows, when she is faced with it daily? What is Loki’s angle here? As far as Sigyn is concerned this is just another form of fire, not to be played with in idle hands.  
Too much time has gone by when she finally speaks. “I will accept, Allfather. What is it you will have me do?” Sigyn does not give way that she knows something is amiss. After all, who would deny such an offer in another other circumstance?  
“Good. Your first task is to clean and lock Frigga’s chambers, which were vandalized some time during the night. After you are finished, you may come back to my room to receive further instruction.” The task is simple enough, and though Loki is aware that it is not uncommon for a servant to call directly upon the Allfather, he cannot begin her duties in a private meeting. “You are dismissed to change your clothing and get to work.” He waves his left hand and closes his eye, indicating that this discussion is over.  
“Thank you, Allfather.” Sigyn turns to walk the way she came, to change her robe, and adjust the cape again. The guards that followed her in fall out of form and lean against the door that leads to the dungeon, bearing no real attention to the reassignment of a servant. They seem annoyed that they had to fetch her from the kitchen in the first place.  
When Sigyn gets back to her chambers, she finds a new uniform waiting on her bed. It is the same gray robe, only this has a sheen to the fabric she has not seen on the other servants. Reserved only for the King, she assumes. After closing the door, Sigyn slides off her current attire, revealing her supple and glowing skin. The old fabric itches and frays, leaving small scratches as evidence all over her body. Her breasts are firm and now erect in the cool breeze that rushes through her meager room. The girl removes the cape, tightening the top around her waist, wrapping the remainder again before pinning it with a simple, silver brooch. Having not bathed since yesterday, the sensation of her long hair brushing on her back is foreign – she pulls the locks up above her shoulders, lifting both her arms in the air, stretching high whilst pinning the coif and showing off her flexibility. As she reaches for the new robe, so soft compared to the rags she removed, Sigyn cannot help but have the feeling that a hidden voyeur has been watching her undress.


	8. The True Allfather

Sigyn picks up the golden horns and places them back on the pedestal where they belong. She is careful to wipe down the gold, leaving not even a single fingerprint as evidence that she had been there, knocking it over. Sigyn half expects to see Loki manifest himself before her, where he stood last night. She makes her way to the threshold of the bedroom, picking up Frigga’s dropped robe. It is still stained with his tears. It hurts Sigyn’s heart to know the sorrow that Loki feels, regardless of his harsh exterior.  
She folds the robe neatly, and places it on the bed. The rest of Frigga’s chamber looks relatively untouched. She dusts the banister to the balcony, and turns to see the interior again; what felt so empty yesterday is now brimming with a dark secret.  
As she exits the chamber, she locks the door behind her. Last night will never be relived. But she feels she can honor Frigga now more than she ever has, by keeping her son alive.  
Sigyn has finished her first task, and makes her way to Odin’s chamber. Here is a place she has never been. On the opposite side of the throne room to Frigga’s, this was the place that they shared together. Servants are not typically allowed in such places without the permission she was explicitly given. Her heart has jumped up to her throat again, choking her. ‘Calm down, calm down,’ she tells herself in hushed tones, trying her hardest to stand tall as she walks. This hallway never seemed so long, the stone so cold. The sun has set, and only the flickering firelight of the torches lights her way. There are no guards in the hallway tonight.  
She makes it to the grand doors that mark Odin’s chamber, and she knocks quietly. A few moments pass, before she knocks again. The door creaks open, no one granting her entrance, but no one keeping her away either.  
Her slim figure sneaks in the small opening. There is hardly any light in this room, only a few small candles lit on the walls. Sigyn stands for a few moments, letting her eyes adjust, when she hears shuffling at the back. Taking ginger steps, as she does not know if there are stairs waiting for her to fall, Sigyn makes her way to the back of the room. She bumps a few tables with her hips, but is sure to keep quiet. There is another door here, with great light beaming underneath it.  
Not bold enough to lose her head again, she decides not to enter the room on her own. She knocks again, louder than on the first door.  
“Allfather? Are you here?” Sigyn has an upward inflection in her voice that she hopes will signal innocence.  
The light under the door is now interrupted by a shadow. Two feet, undoubtedly, stand before the door on the other side. She hears a lock snap open. One side of the door gives way, and she has to shield her eyes from the golden light now saturating her vision.  
“Yes, Sigyn, I am here. Come in.” Odin looks no less worn down than he did on the throne earlier, but Sigyn takes a step forward. He reaches behind her, and locks the door again. She is not surprised once she sees what lies here.  
Odin the Allfather, his true form, is lying in Odinsleep. There is a sparkling shield above him, surrounding the entire bed. The false Odin steps to the head of the bed, looking down at the King. He then looks up and at Sigyn.  
“I wanted you to see him so that you would trust my words. I have not killed him.” He stays in Odin’s form, but now the differences are becoming more obvious to Sigyn. She notices that part of the false Odin’s limp is because he cannot see from his right eye; a malady that no longer presents an obstactle to the true Allfather after all these years. Loki cannot imitate the ferocity of Odin’s orders, regardless of his strong will. He is more gentle, more satisfied in his role than he is burdened by it. When Loki acts as King, he does so as if he is concerned that one failure will break him.  
“I believed you then, as I do now.” Sigyn cannot say much else; she is saddened to see the true Allfather in this state, but torn by her young naivety. She is fighting against her instinct to flatter Loki more.  
The false Odin, having been standing by the bed for the last exhausting few minutes, turns to face Sigyn again. His hands behind his back, standing straight, he takes two steps forward, in the same manner he did the night before.  
“I have no further use for you tonight. Go back to your chamber, I will call upon you when you are needed.” He says the words so matter-of-factly that Sigyn is taken back slightly. Not that she could have expected the same kind of vulnerability she saw from him yesterday. But still, she stands in awe, not moving.  
“Go.” This Odin makes a gesture with his left hand toward the door, clearly dismissing her. She bows her head, and makes her exit.  
Sigyn again has to stumble through the very dark first room to make it back into the hall. Has she upset him in some way? Why would he call her as his servant if he had no plans to actually use her as one? Only time would give her a satisfactory answer, and she retired to her bedchamber to finally catch the sleep she was denied the night before.


	9. Chitauri Attack

It has been six days since she’s been called as a servant to Odin the Allfather. Sigyn has spent that time wandering the palace halls, occasionally bringing food from the kitchen up to the noble floor, where she has not been allowed to pass the staircases beyond the guards. Where this sudden security has come from she has no idea, but it is almost welcoming to not have to face him. Alone in her room, Sigyn has given in to her fantasies, and lets her mind seep into the memory of his strong hands against her forearms. Twice she has woken from deep dreams with an aching in her body to receive him.  
There are no notes, no tokens, no indication that there was ever any interaction between Sigyn and Loki at all, save from her new robe. None of the other servants ask her what her tasks are, and Sigyn gets the impression that many of them expect her to be a night call from the King. While that is beyond ridiculous to Sigyn, there is no point in arguing against their bored rumors.  
A sudden and loud calamity strikes on the noble floor. Guards can be heard clamouring up the staircases, letting out battle cries. Sigyn and the other servants on the kitchen level are curious but worried; surely it cannot be another invasion?  
An hour goes by, and the fighting has not stopped. Guards are being carried down to the healers with gaping wounds. Word has spread throughout the realm that the Chitauri sent a few swift soldiers to send a message to Asgard, seeking revenge. The race of shapeshifters was nearly annihalated when Loki set his mind to rule the people of Earth; in his failure, he had left Asgard vulnerable to attack. Sigyn feels the knot in her throat form again, both with worry that Loki would be found out, and worry that his apparent death would mean the Chitauri would quest to destroy Asgard in his place.  
Sigyn prepares a bowl of hot water and cloth to bring medicine to the injured guards still on the noble floor. When she crests the top of the stairs, a scene of carnage lays out before her.  
There are guards strewn about from wall to wall, most of them bloodied, and a few of them curled in lifeless heaps. People from the healing rooms are pulling out the most severely injured. Sigyn can only dress a few wounds here and there; the bodies of the enemies are intertwined with the Asgardian soldiers, and have not yet been carried out. While Asgard won the battle, one cannot help but wonder when the Chitauri would return.  
Odin the Allfather, greatest warrior of Asgard, fought valiantly alongside his soldiers, using both brute force and skill to trick the invaders into flying their meager vehicles into the walls. Despite the victory, he has been injured. A large piece of his metal armor has been severed, revealing a long, bloody gash on his right shoulder. He now walks with a limp to both sides. Odin meets eyes with Sigyn, who is still stepping between the bodies on the floor with care. Though she lifts the bottom of her skirt, no one but Odin notices her now familiar touch of green.  
“Sigyn, to my chamber.” Odin turns his back to her and walks towards his room. One of the healers stops him.  
“Sire, you have been badly injured, please allow us to do our work.” The healer is a young man with short hair, indicating his willing servitude. Odin does not wish to be touched.  
“I have been wounded in battle many times, young man, this one is no different from the others. Allow me to gather rest on my own with the assistance of my servant. If there is something that she cannot provide, she’ll come to you.” Odin looks behind him to make sure Sigyn heard the order, and keeps walking. She goes to the young healer, replenishes her supply of fresh bandages, and hurries behind Odin.  
The cries of the wounded continue to echo even after the battle is long finished. Sigyn waits in the first room of Odin’s chamber, he having disappeared behind the second door. She consideres where he could possibly rest, knowing that the true Allfather occupies the bed. She hears a few loud, quick groans from behind the door and cannot sit to wait for an order.  
Sigyn pushes her way in. Still in Odin’s form, the King is removing the armor. The injury has bent the metal into his shoulder, making the pieces jar together. He cannot lift his right arm effectively as a result, and can’t get out. Sigyn puts down her bowl and bandages, and walks to him.  
“I can see the damage better than you can, please allow me to help you.” Before she gets a chance to hold out her arm, he barks back at her.  
“No, do not touch me.” His eye looks black, angry. He is tired from the battle, but still desperate to be set free from the armor. It is now a point of pride that the man free himself.  
Finally, a snap, and the armpiece comes clean off. The heavy metal slides the right arm cover to the floor, releasing him. Odin lets out a long sigh of relief, and he asks for Sigyn’s help removing the rest of it. Once the metal is gone, only a dark fabric sheath covers him, still ripped open on the shoulder. It reveals a less impressive physique, as Sigyn had assumed a week prior.  
“There is no proper place for you to rest here. Where is it you go?” Sigyn’s focus is on getting him treatment, and quickly.  
“I go to Frigga’s chamber. You locked the door, didn’t you?” Loki, as Odin, can be heard in his inflection. There is no doubt that he is in pain.  
“Yes, I did. But how do we get there from here?” Sigyn doesn’t know of any real secret passages in the palace, though the thought isn’t impossible.  
“I know a way.” He leads her to the back of the second room, pushes heavily on the wall, and opens a hidden door. The hallway beyond it is black, completely without light, and terrifying to Sigyn. As is the prospect of not knowing how injured Loki is, or if she can help him in time.


	10. Wounded in Battle

False Odin leads the way through the dark, clearly having done this many times. When they reach the end, he presses equally hard on this wall, opening into Frigga’s chamber. There is a large, golden bathing vessel in a room not far from the bed, and that’s where Sigyn commands him to go.  
“Please, let me run hot water, and let us see how badly you are injured.” She has no fear that they will be caught, and he looks at her with his Odin eye, trusting. He nods at her.  
When Sigyn turns her back to run the water, Loki emerges from Odin’s form. Still clothed in the dark sheath underarmor, the gash is much more sinister looking in his own skin. He lifts his left arm up to touch the wound and lets out a hiss of pain; he is standing tall, but hunches his neck, trying to relieve the pressure.  
Loki walks to the vessel slowly, clutching his shoulder. Sigyn raises her head from checking the water temperature, and is taken aback by the sight of Loki, true Loki, bleeding. She stands before him, all business and care, and tells him to reach up his arms to remove the underarmor. He first looks at her, pain in his eyes, nearly brimming with tears, either over the pain or the realization that he attracted the enemy. With a deep breath, his arms raise, and she can feel that he’s struggling to keep the right one lifted. Quickly, she pulls the sheath over his head, and he relaxes.  
‘Stop staring, Sigyn, he needs your help,’ she whispers in her mind to keep from getting distracted. Where his shoulder isn’t injured, his skin shines with sweat. The gentle curvature of his muscles is enough to make Sigyn’s body flow in readiness. The girl refocuses by staring at the wound. She dips a dry cloth in the water, saturating it, and starts to clean the opening meticulously. The sound he makes tells her it stings, but she does not stop. Who knows what those creatures were carrying for weapons, and if there are pieces still lingering inside. Loki barres his teeth again, trying to stay quiet.   
When the dried blood is cleared away, only the gash is visible, still hurting but less likely to cause any permanent damage. Loki could have lost his arm had it gone much deeper. Sigyn is proud of her work, unfamiliar with any healing practices, and wraps his shoulder in a single, long, white bandage. Unable to tie it tightly against his skin, she fumbles around her waist, trying to unlatch the brooch that holds up the green cape. When it falls to the floor, she picks up the pin, and fastens it in a comfortable place. Finally deciding to meet his gaze, she sees that the color has drained from his face, and his skin is prickly with cold.  
“Sit, rest, regain your strength,” Sigyn orders and he obeys. Neither of them question the action. The girl picks up the fallen cape from the floor and wraps him in it, standing in front of a now shrunken ruler. His hair is no longer sleek and organized, instead falling around his face haphazardly. He doesn’t even brush it away. Loki trembles still, clutching the edges of his cape around him as he rocks. He considers what the girl has done for him, and a rush of resentment courses through his veins.  
He looks up at Sigyn. “I suppose I must thank you now,” he says, quietly, regretful that he has to owe anyone anything. But at he looks into her expression, Sigyn is emoting genuine care for Loki’s welfare. He can’t help but feel a twinge of something new for this young woman. Loki cannot place the emotion, it makes him uncomfortable. She is not terribly pretty in this moment, sweating from all of her running back and forth from wounded soldiers, and now showing wet drips from the rag she used to clean his injury. Could it be happiness? Loki’s eyes have turned a deep blue in these few moments, waiting for response.  
“Yes, but it is my duty to help you, Allfather,” Sigyn says with a raising eyebrow. Even if they stay here all night, emerging in the morning with a healed and bandaged King would not raise suspicions.  
Finally, a smirk from Loki, who again looks at his feet. Loki is ignoring whatever the new feeling is and decides to rest. He reaches down to remove his black boots, and inches farther onto the bed where his head can rest, only leaving on the underarmor below his waist. Sigyn stares at him while his eyes are closed, studying every curve of his still-twitching muscles. His legs look long even while bent. His shoulders are cusped beautifully, leading up to the keyhole-like space at the base of his neck. She shakes her head quickly before he can look at her.  
“Will you require anything more of me?” Sigyn stands with her arms behind her back, awaiting instruction at the edge of the bed. “You can dismiss me if that is your wish. The vessel is filled, whenever you are ready.”  
Loki’s eyes are closed. He says nothing. In Loki’s mind, thoughts about the Chitauri attack are racing, yet he can’t completely wipe away the sensation of rushing blood in his veins. His right arm is bent across his chest, and one of his knees is bent up as he lays. Sigyn thinks he is ready to rest, and turns to drain the water.  
Once it is gone, she rotates yet again, only to find Loki standing next to her. Did she hear him stir? She lets out an audible gasp of surprise.  
“Turn back around,” he orders, smiling again in the sinister way that could mean pleasure or pain.


	11. The Affair Begins

As she turns to face the vessel, Sigyn feels Loki’s large hands on either side of her waist. He takes one step closer behind her, and she can feel her heartbeat racing. Her knees weakening. Sigyn feels his fingers clenching to grab the fabric at her sides.  
“Raise your arms,” he whispers to her, almost hissing the order as he did that first night.  
She does as she is told, and stands as still as a board, while feeling the soft fabric reversing direction off her body. Without the cape around her waist, she is now truly exposed.  
Sigyn lets her arms fall across her breasts, shielding from the cool air rushing in from the balcony. Her skin puckers in goosebumps all over her body.  
Loki’s hands again rest on her hips, and she can feel his bare chest behind her. Touching her back, the soft skin is only interrupted by the rough texture of the bandage on his shoulder. He takes one hand and brushes Sigyn’s hair from her spine to the front of her shoulder. His height compared to her allows him to push her head aside with his, granting him purchase to the soft, pale skin on her neck. Loki only breathes hard on her skin, tracing lightly with his lips. Sigyn does not fight his movements, and gives into them like a dancer following a graceful lead.  
Loki has spent so long in battles and dungeons that he has nearly forgotten the touch of a woman. The tenderness she offered him the night of his reveal was only a taste.  
“I want you, Sigyn.” His statement is matter-of-fact, and obvious. Loki lets his body prepare for her, and thrusts his already hard and throbbing self into her hip as a gesture of intention. He desires more of Sigyn’s body, and wraps his cape around the both of them as he trails small kisses up her neck. The warm skin beneath his cold lips makes Loki’s mouth water with preparation.  
Sigyn lets her head fall backward in an audible sigh, resting on his shoulder, stupidly. The pressure brings sharp pain to Loki, and he raises his head backward and cries out, just a single groan. She turns quickly, now slightly released from his grasp, to see him open-mouthed and trying to calm down from the ache. Sigyn lifts her index finger to his lips, just as his head looks down to her. For a moment, they are standing there, skin against skin, staring at each other. She asks herself again, ‘is this a dream?’  
Instead of reaching in for a taste of his lips, Sigyn looks straight ahead instead. Careful of where she just cleaned his wound, she traces her fingers across every canal of his chest, leaving goosebumps in the wake of her fingertips. She places the palm of her right hand against his waist, trying to take in more of him. Her other hand, cautious to not brush the bandages, reaches up to stroke his hair. His locks are wavy and soft, not overly manicured behind his ears, falling in Loki’s face. Sigyn twirls a few tendrils between her fingertips.  
Loki runs his right arm carefully along Sigyn’s shoulder, down her arm, and up to the hand in his hair. He again places it palm-down on his cheek, this time allowing his face to fall into it. Loki closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, now allowing himself to be vulnerable with her in this space. He is trying hard not to admit to himself that what he desires from her is more than just her body, but her care as well.  
Loki wishes to feel more of her, and puts her hand down at his side. Mimicking Sigyn’s movements, he brushes her chocolate hair away from her face and behind an ear, his hand so long as to touch her cheek without intending to. Her skin, so much softer than his, is not marred by battle or sorrow. Loki can no longer resist. By wrapping his hand tightly behind her ear, he pulls her in for a deep kiss.  
She devours his lips, his breath, and his touch as if she needs it to survive. He is cold to the touch, but his movement brings warmth, as does her own body. They fall together onto the bed, and he lies beside her, pushing his body against hers with ferocity as they continue to give into their passion.  
Sigyn sits up next to Loki on the bed, being very careful not to disturb his shoulder’s injury. She kisses him with tender strokes of her lips, slipping her tongue between his and taking him in. His returns the gesture, filling her mouth. Loki tastes sweet. The sensation of his soft tongue caressing hers in echo sends a shock up her spine that rests in the pit of her stomach.  
She removes the last bit of under armor, pants that reach his ankles, slowly and yet in a single movement. Sigyn is not surprised to find Loki’s already aroused self, ready to greet her. When she moves to return to his lips, she lets her breasts caress the towering glory, watching him with every movement.  
Loki is too weak to take her as he wishes, and is forced to watch Sigyn take control. She moves with grace and beauty, yet is undeniably experienced with men. The way her eyes widened to see him erect give Loki confidence that she would not be a sheepish and frightened lover. Her eyes express the same desire he has. Loki can’t take his eyes off her as she slinks around the bed.  
Before letting him enter her, Sigyn encourages herself by rubbing against his greeted cock, though the movement seems moot. She is already dripping with slick. Loki’s eyes keep closing to enjoy the sensation, but he wants to watch her, mesmerized by her power over him. She is leaning in to his face, joining her lips with his when she grants him entrance, having to push her body down onto him to have every throbbing inch. They moan and breathe together, Sigyn because she feels filled in her body and her heart, Loki because she envelops him with soft heat. The sensation of her body is intoxicating; he feels her soft insides as euphoria, becoming even more sensational as she slides up and down him.  
When she speeds up and starts to groan with pleasure, Loki sits up to embrace her, leaning Sigyn’s body backward to push his pelvis even closer. They rock together, kissing ever more deeply and passionately as the time passes. Sigyn bites his lips in pleasure, her hands in his hair. Even with one hand he is able to hold her back upright, raising himself to one knee, using the angle to pulse inside her rhythmically. As a lover, Sigyn is forgiving, and moves against him to give adequate relief from his injury. When she does come, she has to stop kissing him to throw her head back and inhale. She bites his healthy shoulder, hard. Loki can feel her throbbing around him; her reaction is genuine. Sigyn knows better than to yell out, and whispers Loki’s name with a trembling voice into his ear.  
Loki looks at Sigyn, who is now fulfilled in her quest to obtain him, still trembling with occasional pulses that course through her entire body. He feels himself close to climax, and releases the last bit of resentment in his heart for her aid. Loki grasps Sigyn’s lips in his, suckling her tongue, and whispers Sigyn’s name back to her as their mutual appetite is satisfied.  
The two lovers fall asleep in each other’s arms. Their lips never part.


	12. Reality

Sigyn wakes, the dawn about to break; the result of a timely stir of Loki’s body against hers. Their night together did not progress as expected, as his wound proved to be too great an obstacle for him to use his full strength with her. Instead, their lovemaking was sweet, with Sigyn taking the reins over much of it. This truth makes Sigyn feel less like she was seduced, and more like the night was an expression of their mutual desire, and need, for touch.  
She stares at Loki, his eyes still closed, his hair matted around his face. Sigyn does not desire to wake him up, but she knows that with the day fast approaching, they cannot remain in this chamber like the young lovers they are. Loki’s duties as King will call him out, and her ruse as his lowly servant will have to be reignited. Or is it a ruse at all?  
Sigyn raises her long index finger and traces the sharp lines of his face. She notices that his features are not perfect in this light; his nose has a slight curve, his lips reveal more than one small scar, his eyes round and puffy from straining through last night’s pain. Alas, she could lie here for hours, staring. Loki’s eyes twitch and he smiles before opening them.  
“Why, what is this I see before me, but a beautiful maid of Asgard,” his suave language is laced with flattery, but is without sarcasm; “now leading me out of the darkness and into a new day.” He echoes her movements, tracing his finger down her jawline, and rubbing her earlobe gently with his thumb.  
“Aye, and who lays before me, but the King of Asgard, helpless to deny my advances!” Sigyn laughs, and kisses him good morning. Loki returns her laughter with a quiet chuckle beneath his breath. “But alas, Loki, the day is coming fast, and we must again face the world.”  
At these words, Loki closes his eyes, his grin falling from his lips. The weight of yesterday’s attack has just now hit him. Loki can no longer revel in the comfort of Sigyn’s warm body next to him, and must focus on his duties as King. The pensive expression he holds is puzzling to Sigyn, and she slides out from underneath the cape that embraced them both during the night. She takes a long look around the room, considering her chambers in comparison; the dingy quarters she calls her own are so much less grand, so much more like a closet than a true living space. Sigyn makes a mental note to be grateful for this time, as they surely cannot continue this affair, and starts to pick her robe up off the floor where it fell.  
“I will have this back now,” she says to Loki seriously, while tugging at the cape beneath him. He does not stir.  
“It is not yours to take, now, is it?” His eyes are still closed. The words are harsh, unfriendly. Perhaps his stress over the Chitauri is now reflecting in his conversation?  
“If you so wish, Loki.” Sigyn slides into her gray robe, and lifts her hair into the signature coif. Frigga’s room has no lack of mirrors, and she is able to fix herself into looking more like a woman who healed the King, as opposed to the lost and confused young girl that is aching for an explanation, a definition, from Loki. Sigyn makes her way to the edge of the bed next to him, checking his bandage. The brooch has kept it well in place, and no blood has seeped through the fabric.  
“Your injury seems well enough; you should be fine to face the day with it.” Sigyn is now equally cold to Loki as she exits back through the hidden hallway. “I trust I will hear your call should you require anything of me.”  
Loki says nothing. He only raises his left arm, and waves his hand at her, dismissing Sigyn as if he were Odin shushing away a person not worthy of his acknowledgement.  
The tear she sheds is lonely and painful; Sigyn curses herself for having joy at all this dawn.


	13. Plan of Attack

Sigyn finds herself feeling cold today without her extra skirt layer, so she ties an old sheet from her room around her waist. She retires, alone, and closes the door behind her.  
Her first instinct is to scream, and hold herself close; what kind of a game is Loki playing? Instead of giving in, she rummages through her drawers and finds her sword, carefully removing it from the old sheath. The blade is ornate with crystals, curved elegantly, a relic of a weapon.  
A single, quick jab forward; another, now with her foot moving backward, swinging with the blade facing back. Switch hands. Repeat. Crouch and jump, slash again. The blade is heavy in her hands, but the weight alone is a satisfying replacement to breaking things in her room.  
The blade slips, making an accidental nick on her new robe; it is close to a seam, but noticeable nonetheless.  
“Oh no, whatever shall I do, I have torn my beautiful new robe.” Sigyn’s sarcasm is dripping. Her usually tactful self is trying to not feel so ungrateful. She finds another silver pin and closes the hole, though she doesn’t work to hide it well. The sword whips back and forth through the air once more, with escalating ferocity, until Sigyn can no longer remember the night through her sore arms.  
\---  
Loki gets up from the bed, much later than he should have. He folds his cape neatly, and lays it down on the floor. His shoulder is sore, but healing quickly; should they return, he will be ready for another fight.  
He stands, in all his glory, in front of the mirror. He smooths his hair and examines himself; he hasn’t spent this much time in his own form since before he came from Svartalfheim, and barely recognizes the figure in the mirror. Loki can’t decide if he will ever reveal himself to the people of Asgard, or if he will be forced to rule behind the mask of his stepfather until another challenger comes to take the throne.  
The man looks at his reflection in the mirror, and glances at the pin that holds together his shoulder bandage. Loki slams his fists down on a nearby table. He curses himself in silence. How could he have been so blind as to think the Chitauri would not come for him? The previous day’s battle replays in his head, over and over, repeating the words of the band’s leader before Loki killed him: “We will return; your world will pay for what Loki has done.”  
Taking Odin’s form again, Loki is pleased that the bandage is still in place. He closes the secret doorway to Frigga’s room, and exits through his own. The lumbering steps to the Judgement Hall are uninterrupted by voices; only the ghosts of yesterday’s casualties fill the hall today.  
When he arrives, a great council has been summoned to meet him. They are already discussing yesterday’s events in detail, cursing Heimdall for not raising the shields over the palace.  
“They were repaired months ago, why not pull them the second the invaders flew past the Bifrost?”  
“What of Thor in this matter? Should we not be counseling with him?”  
“How many more of them can there be? These monsters all deserve to die!” The soldiers are arguing fervently over nothing. The sound of their bickering continues to grow, echoing off the walls, disrupting logical thought.  
“Enough!” Odin bellows above all of them; they turn to him in silence.  
“The Chitauri are more than a simple race of shapeshifters, tied to their machines. They are lead by Thanos, one of the great titans, and their forces can prove lethal to us and all of Asgard if we don’t stop bickering like fools.” He seems immediately aware that his language is more that of Loki than Odin, but the soldiers do not flinch, so he continues. “We will not call Thor from Midgard to help us defend our own realm. We will fight them, if they seek it out. You soldiers are merely boys looking for excitement. War is not to be fought in the walls of this palace. If they come, we will draw them out, and fight them in the open, defeating them for all the realms to see!” The end of his small speech is met with cheering from the soldiers. While unrest still dwells within his heart, he is certain that these men will follow him into battle.  
“Did we take any prisoners from the attack?”  
“No, Allfather, all were killed.” A young, short soldier answers the question. His eyes express hope that Odin will notice him.  
“Then we have already sent them a message. Asgard will leave no survivors of the Chitauri – now go to your posts, and send me word.” Odin waves his hand to the soldiers, dismissing them as he did Sigyn earlier.  
The false Odin sits at his throne, and takes a few moments to relive the previous night. He makes a request.  
“Guard, call forth my servant from the kitchens. I require her assistance in redressing my wounds from yesterday.” The call is a lie, but the guard knows no difference. He exits the hall while Odin sits at the throne, waiting.  
Sigyn is brought up with the guard, looking as she did when he called to change her station. Her eyes are shooting hatred, not care and concern.  
“You summoned me, Allfather?”  
“Yes, Sigyn. I am in need of your assistance. Follow me to my chamber.” Odin rises and continues down the hall.  
“Is it for your wound, Allfather?”  
This stops him in his tracks. Why would she choose not to follow him?  
“Yes, it is.”  
“Allfather, forgive me, but I am not trained well in healing. Perhaps this is why your wound already needs to be redressed. In light of this, I have asked one of the healers to assist you.” Sigyn steps aside, revealing the short-haired healer from yesterday. He seems eager, too eager, to give a hand.  
Odin looks at Sigyn, not knowing her angle. But he does not argue. In his mind, Sigyn is trying to protect him by leaving adequate space between the two of them. He can call upon her later.  
“Thank you, Sigyn. Come, healer.” Odin walks to his chamber with the healer trailing behind, holding bandages. Sigyn smirks, and goes back to her room, where she intends to stay.


	14. Warrior Sigyn

There are always ways to get out of the work she’s asked to do. When it comes to dressing his wounds, which have multiplied in a series of Chitauri attacks, Sigyn always allows the short-haired healer to tag along. She volunteers to help in the kitchens, giving the task of bringing feasts to the noble floor to some deserving young servant other than herself. When the attacks come and Odin is brought outside the palace walls, Sigyn never stays with the other servants to watch the victory; she stays in her room and practices her own sword skills, in case one of them slips through the sight of a soldier.  
Sigyn is ignorant to the sheer number of requests from the King, choosing to be defiant instead of submissive. Had she counted them, Sigyn might have noticed the false Odin’s desire to see her again.  
Another battle rages on today; the Chitauri have come five times since their first attack. However, according to the word that spreads too quickly through the palace, none of the attacks have merited the appearance of their leader, Thanos. Odin has sworn a decree that whomever fights against Thanos and the Chitauri would be revered as a hero of Asgard, held up in the stations akin to the highest warriors. This order has caused many young men, even women, in the realm to forge armor and wield weapons. It has made the palace a dangerous place, full of eager and inexperienced fighters.  
When night falls, and the last Chitauri dies at the hand of Odin, a grand feast is called. Sigyn takes the opportunity to hide in the kitchen and work, her shiny gray robe now just as tattered as before, the hole in the side gaping wider with each passing day. The raucous of soldiers reliving small tales of victory against one or two Chitauri ring through the halls. As the noise dies down, Sigyn excuses herself from the kitchen, and returns to her room.  
What she finds as a token on her bed nearly causes her to lose her balance; sitting in a neatly folded pile is a new gray robe, matte like the one she wore months ago, atop the ever-familiar green cape of Loki. Her silver brooch, the one she used to tie his bandages, pinned to the top with a note.  
“Sigyn Eddasdottir, servant to Odin the Allfather, you have been relieved of your station and are to be reinstated in the great hall.”  
She doesn’t recognize the writing, nor can she be sure who sent her the clothing. But Sigyn chooses to let this moment be akin to freedom from bondage. She places the cape beneath her bed, brooch attached, and sets the new robe aside. Pulling out her sword, she slashes with fury, eventually cutting the fabric of the noble robe to pieces.  
\---  
During the seventh battle of the Chitauri, most of Asgard is out fighting with the soldiers. The palace walls are secured, but there is still a hum of healers racing in and out with the wounded. Sigyn is preparing for another grand feast, ignoring the now familiar sounds of fighting outside.  
She hears a buzzing sound behind her, unsettling and novel. Sigyn turns to find herself faced with a Chitauri soldier, inching towards her with a sinister, glowing weapon. The creature is hideous; his teeth are crooked and dripping, he is twitching side to side as if electrocuted every few seconds. Sigyn has enough sense to reach behind her and grasp a large knife, which she throws at the Chitauri’s head. He dies instantly, leaving a still-twitching corpse on the floor of the kitchen.  
Sigyn runs to her chambers to find her sword. She follows a group of healers outside, taken aback by the scene. The palace is being overrun by Chitauri fighters, running into the shield with enormous force. They are accompanied by huge battalions of metal, lead by none other than Thanos at the front. He is yelling something incomprehensible, most likely a language for his soldiers, as they disembark and run for the palace gates. Thanos himself finds Odin, and the two can be heard noisily battling above the other raucous of swords.  
The few that get through are swiftly killed by Asgard’s soldiers; however, their numbers are growing, and soon they are running into the second and third row of men sent to guard the gates. Sigyn kills two, three, six, several of the Chitauri in this frenzy. Her hair loosens, whipping back and forth with each stroke of her sword. She is igniting heavy images of Sif, her warrior idol, as she defends the palace.  
A great commotion is heard above the ground fighting, and everyone’s attention, including that of the Chitauri, is sent upward. Odin the Allfather has slain Thanos, bringing down his vehicle and holding the enemy’s head in victory. Odin screams in victory. The remaining Chitauri soldiers flee, boarding the last functioning battalion as they escape from Asgard. Odin can be heard yelling, “Cowards, the Chitauri, to come to Asgard and not be prepared to die for your fury!” Cheering can be heard from all the people below, as the healers again start feeding in the wounded.  
Sigyn is approached by many in the following hours, congratulating her on the great skill she showed with her sword, defending the palace, and standing as a soldier. She is flattered, even proud of her work. One of the higher-ranked soldiers, Theoric, invites her to that night’s feast, to honor all she has done for Asgard this day. Sigyn has never attended a feast as a guest, and accepts the invitation, admitting to herself that Theoric is a fine man to admire.


	15. Taking Sigyn by Force

The feast gets underway with a loud roar of attendance. Almost all of Asgard can be found in the great hall, or lingering in the long hallways on either side. Sigyn, with Theoric, sits at a soldier’s table, retelling the encounter with the Chitauri that invaded the kitchen. She is dressed all in black, one of the few garments she owns that is not for work. When Sigyn retells how she threw the knife, many of the more boistrous warriors laugh, now celebrating the death of the invaders as if it was a long forgotten battle to be told in children’s songs.  
Odin the Allfather enters the hall, and every person stands to greet and congratulate him on the victory. Several months have passed since the first attack of the Chitauri, and he proved that Asgardians could defend their own realm, regardless of his old age and state of health.  
Odin stands as the citizen soldiers bow before him, individually given a vote of gratitude directly from the King. Sigyn tells Theoric she would rather not make a spectacle of herself, but he pulls her arm and almost drags her to the place in front of Odin.  
“Allfather, it is an honor to present to you Sigyn, mighty defender of the kitchen, and the gates of these great palace halls!” Theoric is too excited to announce her to the King. She does not smile, nor does she make eye contact with Odin.  
Odin is taken aback to see her. In black, the girl appears less like a servant and more like a high lady. Sigyn’s hair is half-down, curling slightly at her shoulders. It is longer than before. The dress nips her waist. He had forgotten the immediate effect she had on him before, still scorned from her denials to see him after their night of passion. Odin suddenly remembers where he is and must continue.  
“Sigyn, is it true that you defended Asgard at the sword, and risked your life for your realm?” Odin’s question is rehearsed, but he asks this to Sigyn with a certain air of disbelief.  
“Yes, Allfather. I will continue to protect Asgard, until my last and dying breath.” Sigyn’s response is equally rehearsed, simply repeating what she heard the last few people say in response.  
“Very well. Asgard is grateful for your service. And so am I.” Odin reaches forward and takes Sigyn’s hand. He raises it to his lips and gives a kiss, keeping his eye on her, hoping she will look at him.  
Sigyn gives a slight bow, and finally looks him in the eye. “Thank you, Allfather.” The kiss on her hand gave her a cold shudder; she turns with Theoric to sit back at the banquet. Odin watches her carefully; his heart falls when she lifts her robe to sit, and he no longer sees any hint of his green cape beneath it.  
\---  
Sigyn’s sleep is disturbed by a loud knock on the door. A guard stands and barks a familiar order.  
“Odin the Allfather requests your presence in the Judgement Hall.”  
Sigyn looks past each door and sees that there is still no sunlight. What could he possibly want to talk with her about now?  
“I will follow you to him.”  
Sigyn changes into her gray robe and exits the room. The guard turns, and she walks the long-since familiar steps up to the noble floor. It seems the entire palace is empty tonight, the great hall still occupied by the servants cleaning, and all else sleeping silently in the peace of a victory won. As they pass Frigga’s room, it is still locked, now letting out a cold draft as Sigyn steps in front of the old doors.  
Sigyn continues to follow the guard, who walks past the throne room and straight to Odin’s chamber door. Instead of knocking for permission to enter, he pushes open the door and grabs Sigyn’s arm with him.  
“Excuse me, shouldn’t we wait for...” Sigyn is interrupted by a familiar sight before she can finish her question to the guard. As the door closes behind them, she watches a sheen of light fall around his face. The guard is Loki in disguise, found here in the deep night to fetch her to his quarters. His full armor attire tells her that he has not yet had a chance to rest after the feast.  
“What will you have me do now, Loki? I am no longer tied to serve you.” Sigyn is wretchedly hurt by this new ruse to wake her after such a tiring day. She snaps the words at him like the swift throw of her knife at the Chitauri.  
“Why do you deny me, after all I’ve done for you?” Loki looks her in the eye, touching her chin to force her gaze. His question implies hurt, but his expression is asking about betrayal.  
“Why would you? Dismissing me so after our last meeting, after keeping your secret. I was a fool to think you wouldn’t harm me, Loki.” Sigyn recognizes that she is being too bold; like the first night she met him, he could kill her any minute. But she continues to press the hard questions. “Why would you return your cape to me, after making it clear it was not mine to have? After showing me no compassion, when all I gave you was a tender hand?” Her face is feeling hot, itching below her eyes. She is commanding her tears to stop.  
Loki says nothing, and walks to the back of the first room, into the place where the true Odin lies. He beckons Sigyn to follow him.  
“I will not follow you into another one of your cheap tricks, Loki.” Her anger is not misdirected. He betrayed an unspoken trust between them, while she kept him alive in her silence.  
Loki stands in disbelief at her defiance. He was not prepared for her to look upon him with such disdain, when he was used to seeing a dreamy air in her gaze. The realization that she no longer wants him fuels his anger. In only a few seconds, Loki no longer wants Sigyn’s care; he has decided that she is no longer a worthwhile concern.  
“If you will not follow me,” Loki is walking fast toward her now, almost marching to battle, “then I shall have to take you by force!” He yells these last words at her as he swings her body over his shoulder. One of his hands makes a gesture at her mouth; she is now silent, and cannot scream for help. Loki pushes his way through the doors, both into the second room of Odin and down the dark hallway to Frigga’s chamber. He throws Sigyn down on the bed, and paces back and forth in front of it.  
“What have you done to me, Sigyn? You have turned my spirit soft! I should have killed you when you found out who I was!” Loki is clearly considering that as an option, and looks at her with an intensity that frightens Sigyn to the core. His eyes, though usually dark, are almost black with rage. His walk, typically straight and proper, is hunched and quickened, as if ready for attack.  
Sigyn is still forcibly silent. She opens her mouth to speak, with no purchase from her throat. She reaches her arms out to him, sitting on her knees so as to be close to his eye level, trying to grab him. Her desperation is obvious.  
He stops in front of her, feeling only her grasping hands at his arms, trying to pull him down, trying to convince him to let her speak. He leans in to her.  
“If I am to kill you, then I will have you one last time!” This hiss has a finality. An absolute. He will take her. Loki makes no mistake of his intention as he grabs the hair at the nape of her neck and pulls back, hard. Her head shoots upward, involuntarily, as he kisses her.  
Sigyn, at first, tries hard to resist, biting his lips, pushing him with all her strength. But the sensation of his cold skin against her as he tugs at her robe is almost too much to bear. She pulls back her head enough to look him in the eye; she lingers there, staring. Loki squints his eyes at Sigyn, confused at her lack of struggle. He waves his hand in front of her again, granting speech back to her. Sigyn says nothing, and doesn’t drop his gaze, as her fingers intertwine the complex buckles of his armor.


	16. Surprise Submission

This night is so unlike their first affair. Without an injury to hold him back, Loki is more forceful, and less allowing than before. Where Sigyn took control, she is now powerless to end his seduction. There is no stopping Loki.  
As she unbuckles the breastplate, Loki stands and breathes hard down on her. His heart is racing; unlike before, he is filled with rage and excitement, instead of pain and desire. She removes it swiftly, revealing the underarmor. The arm pieces slide off as before. He quickly raises the underarmor over his head, showing his now healed chest; Sigyn traces the scar on his shoulder, a now permanent reminder of the danger he brought to his people through greed. His hair falls haphazardly around his shoulders, longer than their first night together, lending him a certain beauty that Sigyn finds irresistible.  
Sigyn looks up at Loki again, his eyes beating down on her with power. He did not bring her here for pleasure, yet the expression on her face is causing Loki to pause. She undressed him, clearly willing to face whatever punishment he sees fit. Could it be she has been holding back her visits to keep from impairing his focus in battle?  
The girl inches her face close to Loki’s body, not breaking the eye contact. She opens her mouth, and slides her tongue up the center of his chest to the keyhole at the bottom of his neck. The movement makes Loki tremble, both with sensation and confusion at her action.  
She continues to undress him, and he gives her a look that is more commanding than allowing. He never smiles; his lips remain tightly pursed, as if trying to hold back a secret. Loki kicks the boots and thigh guards into the corner, and she pulls off the rest of his underarmor. His exposure excites her. She sits more erect on the bed, still on her knees, leaning back to allow him greater purchase to see her. Unlike their first encounter, when he tenderly removed her robe and caressed her skin, he now takes both of his strong hands and rips the robe in two, revealing Sigyn in a swift movement that leaves her vulnerable to his whim; the sleeves are still attached to her.  
As Loki ties the robe behind, forcing Sigyn’s arms behind her back, she can feel the weight of his body on top of her. She leans far on her knees, stretching her belly backwards, extending her torso in display. Loki trails his hands surprisingly gently across her breasts, flicking them ever so slightly to see their reaction to his touch. Sigyn is still silent, but Loki can see that she is ready to receive him by the glisten on her thighs as she leans back even farther.  
He pushes her onto the bed, hard, forcing her on enough so that her feet do not dangle. In spite of Sigyn’s submission, Loki considers his options. He could torture her if he so wished, or kill her as he’d planned; but the look on her face is one of fear and wanting. Loki grabs her left ankle and pulls it open, crawling higher onto the bed with her, pressing his chest into hers as the rest of his body lies between her legs. Sigyn stares at him. Loki’s hair falls around his face, illuminating his cheekbones, making them look sharp. His lips are slightly parted, but his eyes are feasting on her.  
He remains there, looking at her, tracing his finger around her face as he did the morning they woke together. But in this moment, his heart falls again. Loki no longer wishes to hurt Sigyn; again he is reduced to simply wanting her. He finds himself wishing he had not tied her arms back so that she might touch his face again. Her tears are flowing, making her dark eyes glow. She still says nothing. Sigyn only feels his hard breath on her face, as she struggles to breathe beneath his weight. Even amidst a conflicting feeling of desire, Sigyn still fears that this may be her final night.  
“Sigyn... I am sorry.” Loki admits this, only once. His eyebrows are raised, ready for a response, which he does not receive. Sigyn is Loki’s only confidant, and he would again be completely alone if he were to dispatch her now. His intention is to express such gratitude and leave her be, even if she no longer wishes to be close to him. Loki lowers his head and kisses her, this time biting her lip gently. Like the confession, he waits for her to respond to his touch. Sigyn’s lips are salty with tears, but softer than he remembers. Her taste sends a shock through his body. But he feels her merely receiving the kiss; as disappointment settles in, Loki starts to pull away.   
As he does so, his lip is caught in her teeth. She is no longer biting hard to detract him; this nibble is soft, accompanied with a small flick of her tongue. Loki can feel her chest rising. He hears Sigyn cooing, so quietly, and pulls away long enough to see her expression.  
There is a fire in her eys that he has not seen before. She wraps her legs behind him, forcing Loki inside her, pulling her head back at the forceful sensation. Even Loki lets out a groan of surprise. Sigyn’s legs wrap around him tightly, pulling him in for a few thrusts to show her appetite. The tears on her face have dissipated beneath the sweat that pours from her temples. Sigyn will not be satisfied by comfortable lovemaking this night; a statement made clear by her disregard for being quiet.  
Loki is still intrigued with her action, and stops the movement by stiffening his back. He clamps his fingers into her thighs. Sigyn is slender and beautiful in dress, but Loki enjoys squeezing the loose flesh that she has here. She no longer has leverage against Loki, and he takes control of the thrusting, moving ever faster with her allowance. Sigyn turns her head sharply into the sheets beneath her, screaming into them with pleasure. Loki can feel the familiar pulsation of her climax against him, and he takes the opportunity to lift her back off the bed.  
Loki intentionally falls backward, allowing Sigyn to straddle him; she is still engulfed in the sensation of coming, but welcomes the new position. The girl starts to rock on top of him, slowly, her hands still restricted. The sight of penetration and Sigyn’s flexed body makes Loki shiver with excitement.  
“Faster, Sigyn...” Loki whispers the command at first. She obeys, albeit not diligently enough. “Faster...” Again, not satisfactory. Loki yells at her, “Faster!” to which Sigyn replies in action, nearly bucking on top of his form while Loki’s hands run up and down her stretched thighs beside him. Sigyn only slows when she again reaches a pinnacle of sensation, coming a second time. Loki responds by sitting up, untying the bonds behind her back, and embracing her tightly. One of his hands is firmly behind her ear again, pulling her hair, not letting her back away from his kiss. Sigyn returns the gesture, breathing heavily but caressing his check as she once did. She is a negative to his actions, tender where he is forceful, and commanding where he is apprehensive. Their lovemaking continues throughout the night, each encounter reigniting Sigyn’s adolescent fantasy, and forcing Loki to examine his intentions.  
Nevertheless, they are tacit that one could not resist the other.


	17. Accomplice

When Sigyn awakes, Loki is already stirring. She looks out to the balcony and is surprised to see the sun. Sigyn moves to bolt out of the bed, but Loki stops her, telling her that the day after victory calls for no schedule.  
She still sits up in bed, looking at the remains of her robe, and wonders how she will make it back to her chambers without being noticed. Now that she has been released as his servant, there is little excuse to be had.  
“Come now, Sigyn, I have thought of that.” Loki seems to read her mind as he watches her looking at the shreds. He pulls out one of his mother’s robes, dark gray, and tells her it will pass until he can get her new robes again.  
“Thank you, Loki. For your mercy.” She leans in and kisses him gently, and this time he reciprocates. There is no longer a threat of Chitauri attack, and no excuse for him to dismiss her as he did. However, being cautious, Sigyn still stands to leave. Loki looks at her, disappointed.  
“You can call on me, Loki, whenever you need me.” Sigyn slides on the robe, tying it behind her as she walks. She has an irreversible grin on her face.  
“I shall, Sigyn.” He smirks at her with pleasure, watching her every step as she makes her way back through the corridor to Odin’s chamber. Loki lies back down on the bed and lets out a heavy sigh of relief and satisfaction.  
\---  
Sigyn’s shift in the kitchen seems like an eternity. She is feeling less efficient than usual, unable to pull her hair up and away from her face. It will be days until she can again due to the soreness of the back of her neck, but the lingering sensation of Loki’s hand pulling her hair is good memory for her. Her body is filled with sensory flashbacks this day, which she re-lives over and over while she whittles away the piles of work before her. Even the simplest tasks cause grief in her loins, still aching from bucking atop Loki while he commanded her. The thought sends a pleasant shock up her spine, and the grin she had from this morning has refused to dissipate.  
It has only been mere hours when she makes it back to her room, though the sun has already set. On her bed, again, lies a single gray robe. ‘Fast work from him upstairs,’ she thinks, and she slides off Frigga’s borrowed outfit. She kneels under the bed and pulls out the green cape, now dusty, and wraps it around herself. When she closes it with the brooch, she smiles, and for a moment feels as if Loki is standing behind, wrapping his arms around her waist and whispering in her ear. Sigyn shakes her head and unfolds the new robe over herself. This robe, like the first she received, is made of a different material than what she usually wears in the kitchen. This revelation makes her wonder if she will again be called to his presence today.  
There is suddenly a great skirmish in the halls. She exits her room, but no one will stop to speak with her. Servants and guards alike are rushing up the stairs to the noble floor, and their hushed conversations are barely audible. The rumors that travel in the palace are difficult to escape, yet tonight Sigyn will not be part of it. She decides to retire early to get some well-deserved sleep.  
The last thing she sees in the hallway before her is Loki’s brother Thor, back from Midgard, and Heimdall the Gatekeeper, quickly ascending the stairs to the noble floor. She can’t help but notice that Heimdall looks into her soul when he passes by.  
\---  
The next morning, a loud knock on Sigyn’s door wakes her. She quickly dresses, fixes herself to look appropriate for an audience, and answers. Again, the command is familiar.  
“Odin the Allfather requests your presence in the Judgement Hall.”  
Sigyn nods, and doesn’t say anything to the guard. She gestures for him to lead the way.  
As she walks the hall to the noble floor, her lingering passion for Loki clouds her vision. Her legs still ache when ascending the stairs. She does not notice the overwhelming number of guards present. She does not notice the sounds already coming from the throne room. She does not hear the whisperings of betrayal in the palace, and continues to walk forward in the same steps of the guard. The only thing Sigyn can register is her quick heartbeat at the prospect of another affair with Loki.  
They crest the stairs of the judgement hall. The guard moves to the side and allows her to walk central to the throne. Her eyes are on her feet; she is feeling lightheaded, and does not wish to trip in front of the soldiers. Suddenly she is aware of all of them; at least 30 men are lining the room. She looks upon Odin at the throne, and notices an alarming difference from the usual sight. Odin is sitting straight in his place, his eye fixed on her with anger. His expression is one she has never seen. Is it possible that he looks older, more tired than usual? Without hesitation, his gruff voice yells to her:  
“Sigyn Eddasdottir, you are hereby charged with treason in the highest order. Your punishment has not yet been decided. What is your plea?”  
Sigyn’s breath has been stolen. Her eyes widen, and she can’t help but lean forward to keep her balance. While she chokes to catch her breath, she looks to the right of the throne.  
In chains and on his knees sits Loki, her lover, crestfallen and weeping.


	18. The Ruse Revealed

Loki can’t look Sigyn in the eye. He only stares mindlessly at the floor in front of him, catching his breath through hard sobs. His body sizzles with pain, both from the encounter with Sigyn but also the familiar burns of fighting against lightning with Thor. His lip is cut, openly bleeding. Loki’s eyes are swollen with hurt and tears. His wrists, too tightly enclosed in handcuffs behind his back, are stinging with the sensation of metal on his rashed skin. His hair falls in front of his face, shielding the broken man from Sigyn’s stares for guidance.  
The night before, Loki had planned to call upon Sigyn again in her chamber, and dismissed his guards early. After all, it was still the day after victory, and the Asgardians had taken no Chitauri prisoners to punish. Once all the guards had exited, Loki, as Odin, went to his chambers.  
The small soldier, who had tried so futily to be noticed by the Allfather at the first conference over the Chitauri, came to Odin’s chamber to speak with him. The doors were cracked open, inviting visitors, or so it would seem to the soldier. He walked into the dark room, still no more lit than usual, and looked around. The soldier could see that there was a bright light at the back of the room; assuming one would find the Allfather there, he made his way through the first room to the back doors.  
The soldier found himself standing in front of the opening, peering through the crack between the tall doorway. He could see the Allfather, pacing the room, but noticed that he did not fall so heavily on his side with each step. He noticed that Odin was circling something that was emitting great light. The soldier moved to the side to get a better look, only to see something that horrified him: another Odin, lying in sleep, beneath the shining shield. He forced his eyes on the false Odin, noticing a shimmer of light as he changed form from the Allfather to a simple uniformed guard, grinning.  
The small soldier ran through the first room to escape into the hallway, desperate to report what he had seen. His word spread quickly through the halls; one soldier to another, to ten more, until Heimdall had been alerted to find Thor. When enough people had been summoned to the noble floor, the small soldier led the pack up the stairs to Odin’s chamber, waiting for someone to appear. The false guard exited Odin’s chambers, suprised to see such a crowd waiting for him. Thor stepped out behind them all, and confronted him.  
“Loki, we know what you have done. Make this easy on yourself and reveal it before more harm comes to you.” Thor’s language assumed authority and responsibility. He did not wish to harm his brother, regardless of Loki’s crime.  
Loki revealed himself from the guard’s form. His hands were up in front of him, in surrender. But in raising his head, he struck out at Thor.  
“You know nothing of what I’ve sacrificed! You cannot imagine what I have done for Asgard since you abdicated your position! It is my right to be King!” Loki’s rage built within him, arguing with Thor over right and crime. Thor struck Loki with lightning to subdue him; as Loki writhed in front of Thor, guards quickly clasped chains around his wrists and even his neck. The small soldier that discoverd his ruse kicked Loki in the face and chest, cursing him for deceiving the people of Asgard in blasphemy to the Allfather.  
\---  
Now, Sigyn stands before the true Allfather, woken from the Odinsleep to find his adopted son masquerading as himself. In the Allfather’s time spent cursed to unconsciousness, Loki had defeated a race of enemies and personally slayed their leader, defending Asgard in the face of grave danger. But this did not outweigh his crime, leaving Odin no choice but to punish him and all his accomplices, including this young woman.  
“I will ask you again, girl, what is your plea?”  
Sigyn considers that this Odin is a man she has never met. That she has to respond with the utmost respect to save her own neck.  
“I plead not guilty, Allfather, for I served as I was asked to, by the King.” This response causes all the guards in the room to gasp at her insolence. Loki even raises his head to watch her. Sigyn keeps her eyes squarely on Odin.  
“Do you admit that you knew you were serving a false king?” Odin seems too smug in this question, waiting to trap her. He is not aware of their affair, none of them are; they only know she was his servant, and assume she must know of his facade by her intimate contact with him through the first attack.  
“I did know the King I served was Loki Laufeyson! But how could I have considered him false, when he defended our realm, cast judgement on the prisoners, and led a great army from the people? What about his actions could have led me to believe he was not a true King?” Sigyn is now standing straight, confident in her response. The real Odin does not frighten her; should she die for Loki’s honor, she would be proud to do so.  
“Casting an illusion over himself to appear worthy of the throne does not make him King!” Odin is almost standing off the throne, leaning to yell these words at Sigyn, intending to make her cower to him.  
“Illusions are irrelevant; if he had led the people as his true self, would he not still have won?” Sigyn’s defense of Loki echoes her admiration for him. Loki is now sitting straighter to watch the spectacle unfold. Why is Sigyn choosing to defend him when it will obviously lead to her end? His eyes turn to Odin, who is now grinding his teeth, considering the options.  
“It appears you are too faithful, Sigyn, to your false king. In return, your punishment can be to witness his death.” Odin raises his hand to dismiss her, beckoning two guards to immediately grasp her arms and lead her to the dungeon.  
Sigyn yells behind her, “I would follow him to hell, if that is where you should send my love! You cannot deny Loki’s honor, no matter how great your jealousy of his success!” She is pushed hard from one of the guards to keep moving and turn forward; watching this, Loki stirs and tries to stand after them, wanting to defend her. He is kicked back by the large oaf of a soldier at his side.  
“Loki Laufeyson, your fate has been sealed,” Odin calls to him, as the guards drag his limp body to the center of the room. “Your punishment is to face the great serpent, and torture until your death.” The Allfather slams his scepter in finality, sending Loki to prepare for his end.


	19. Preparation

Sigyn’s cell is small, cold. She gets thrown in by the guard with little care that she is a woman. The guard laughs as he activates the shield walls, and leaves her there alone.  
She is lying on the floor, having scraped her leg while being thrown in, still in shock over what just happened. When she does finally sit up, the soreness of her body turns to sharp aches that she cannot ignore. Sigyn pulls her injured leg up to her chest, and weeps into her robe; her other hand is clutching the exposed green cape skirt, rubbing the fabric between her thumb and forefinger. Seeing it makes her cry harder, until she is audibly sobbing, wretching, in her cell. Sigyn throws herself into memory, recalling when she first met Loki, having injured the same leg and seeing him come to her rescue. She considers her final words to Odin, her revelation of love, the confession aimed at no one.  
How did they find out that Odin was Loki in disguise? What did it mean for her after his death? Was he really going to end before her eyes?  
Would she really die for him?  
The questions never stop, unsatisfyingly left without answers.  
Sigyn rocks back and forth, knee to chest, for what feels like an eternity. She cries alone for so long, her tears no longer flow; her mind goes blank with all the racing thoughts of her nearby fate. Sigyn stares out into the dungeon, dark and unforgiving, with no company beyond her memories.  
When Loki is brought down into the dungeon, so much time has passed that Sigyn cannot help but pleadingly ask the guards what they have done to him. She stands to watch them bring him into a cell. His hair, so lovely and long, has been cut to his chin as a sign of final servitude. The only clothing he wears are the black underarmor pants that cut off mid-calf; his feet are bare and bleeding from being dragged. The guards are holding each of his arms outward from his sides, and Sigyn can see bruises and whipping slashes criss-crossing up his spine. They throw Loki into the cell parallel to hers, activate his shield walls, and snarl a nasty comment at him.  
“You have one more night to live, traitor; use your time here wisely!” They laugh at his misfortune and pain as they exit the dungeon.  
Loki is face down on the hard cell floor, his back facing outward in Sigyn’s direction. His head is propped up on his left arm, his right sprawled out beyond. One of his knees is bent over a stretched out leg, where the guards threw him in. Sigyn stares at him in silence for a few minutes, convinced he isn’t breathing or moving; her heart jumps to her throat in fear that he is already dead. But a comforting and yet heart-wrenching reassurance comes when she sees him moving, choking in small breaths, clearly sobbing into the floor. He makes no sound. Sigyn doesn’t know whether or not to stay quiet or call out to him, offering him comfort; what kind of words could she possibly say that would give him relief in this hour?  
She cannot help herself. “L...Loki?” Sigyn wonders if he can even hear her through these walls; her voice is soft, not loud enough to wake the monsters in the cells surrounding her. “Loki, can you hear me?”  
He curls his legs up to his chest on the floor. She watches the muscles in his back contract grotesquely, still seizing after his torture. Loki didn’t answer her, but this time-locked response tells her that he did hear it.  
“Loki, I am sorry if my words brought you more trouble. I am sorry if I could have done something, anything, to protect you. I’m sorry...I’m sorry that you’re in pain... I’m...” The tears that she thought had dried up an hour ago start flowing again, profusely. “I’m so sorry...” Sigyn sobs, and falls again to the floor, now clutching her own knees as he is.  
Loki is still in disbelief at his predicament. He has not only lost his throne, but is now being sent to his death without the defense of his mother to protect him. At the end of it all, he has also been forced to witness the prosecution of his woman, the solitary soul of Asgard to claim witness to his honor. Loki, surprisingly, feels pity for Sigyn and the position he has put her in by declaring her his personal servant. Had he simply visited her in disguise, she would not have been marked a known accomplice. Loki has sent her to this fate, regardless of her strong will to protect him.  
Sigyn doesn’t hear him as he whispers, “No, Sigyn, not as sorry as I am.”


	20. The Great Serpent

The next morning, after a long night of no sleep, the guards come to the dungeon to take Loki and Sigyn. The other prisoners are yelling, incomprehensible languages, cursing at the guards for release. Loki’s previously undeniable strength has been reduced to being dragged like a child’s toy out of the dungeon. Sigyn walks upright behind him. Her hands are behind her back. She looks nothing if not noble, and is ready to face her fate. Sigyn was wise enough to tuck up her green skirt so that it was her little secret. Maybe the last secret she’ll ever get to keep.  
Odin the Allfather leads the guards in a grand, hyper-powered ship to a waterfall, deep in the mountains of Asgard. Thor stands beside him, unmoving throughout the entire spectacle. Odin gestures to two large soldiers, and they grasp Loki by the arms again, pulling him off the ship, resting the man’s limp body face up beneath a wide cliff. They tie his arms to a nearby branch, with feet together as well. Sigyn is handcuffed and forced to the front of the ship, angled so she cannot turn to look away. She looks around the waterfall, peers down from the ship to gauge the height, and cannot see how this could possibly be the setting for Loki’s final torture. What danger could exist in this beautiful place?  
Odin stands on a pedastal in the center of the ship; once the guards who secured Loki return to safety, the Allfather strikes his sceptre in the boat. The clang echoes through the valley, resounding off every cliff and boulder. For a few minutes, nothing happens.  
When Sigyn finally looks up at the water, she is horrified.  
Emerging from a cave behind the waterfall, a giant, iridescent serpent is twisting its body up the rocks. Its head is shaped like a large shield, triangular, and thick. The eyes are akin to black whirlpools: deep, terrifying, and without end. Logic says the snake would run out of body after slithering out for more than a few minutes, but the scales keep appearing. The water makes the serpent appear slippery, menacing. Sigyn cannot catch her breath as she watches the creature coil its body on the cliff above Loki. The serpent looks at the victim, and rears back its head.  
“Great Serpent, this traitor has failed to accept punishment admissible by men. His crimes are great. He knows his fate. Go forth with your will upon him.” Odin commands the snake with authority, controlling it. The animal peers into Sigyn’s eyes, reading her as well as Heimdall would. But instead of feasting upon Loki, as Sigyn expected, the snake opens its mouth slowly, hisses terribly at the ship, and drips a yellow, thick venom upon its victim.  
Loki screams out in a painful call, taking all his strength to wretch. Sigyn cannot watch in silence; she bellows out to him, “No, no, no!” She prays aloud for it to stop, begging for his life. Sigyn turns to face Odin, constantly being pushed by the guards to keep watching.  
“Please, please Allfather, have mercy upon him!” Sigyn’s tears are clouding her vision. Even if she could bear to watch, she wouldn’t be able to truly see it. Loki’s cries are deafening, echoing through the canals and caves like the clash of Odin’s sceptre. His body writhes beneath each drip of the venom, pulling so hard at his arms to escape that his shoulder appears sickeningly twisted out of place. Loki’s feet, already scraped and bloodied from the day before, are raw with kicking at the stone. He is trying to roll his body off the cliff to end his misery, but the soldiers that tied him left too little slack in his bindings.  
“Let me help him! Please let me help him! I cannot stand to let him die!” Sigyn’s desperation and hoarse cries to Odin are heartbreaking to watch. The Allfather cannot change his sentence, but he can offer satisfaction to Sigyn.  
“You are quite brave, Sigyn, willing to be so bold for Loki. You are released to grant him mercy, if you can.” He gestures to the soldiers to relieve her handcuffs.  
At first, she stands at the front of boat, still frozen; now she has a chance to help Loki, but does not know what to do. Sigyn searches the boat for a balm, anything to ease the venom, but is empty-handed. A familiar looking guard sits at the back picking his fingernails, clearly disturbed enough by Loki’s torture that he cannot watch either. She notices him, and sees that there is a small bowl at his feet, left there no doubt by a fat guard with an insatiable appetite even during short missions. Sigyn pushes past another man to reach the bowl, and she jumps from the ship to the cliff below.


	21. Goddess of Fidelity

Sigyn’s whole body is shaking with fear. Loki has not stopped writhing; his voice has grown weak and hard to hear after such loud screaming, but the intensity forcing its way through his throat is unchanged. She approaches cautiously, not sure if she could bear the sting of venom if it splashed upon her face as it does Loki’s.  
The ground gives slightly with every step. Sigyn grasps Loki’s feet so he knows she is there; he cannot open his eyes, nor can he focus on any senses not tied to the pain. She makes her way up his tall body slowly, suddenly aware that his height is making the journey so much longer. Her soft hands hold out the bowl above his face, waiting for another drip of the venom to fall. Sigyn closes her eyes in anticipation.  
She feels the bowl give, as she catches the next few drops. How long can the serpent do this before the supply is exhausted? Sigyn forces her eyes on Loki’s face, still covered in blood from the beatings, but now his mouth is open and he’s taking deep, labored breaths. His chest rises more than normal. His shoulder, even grotesquely bent backward, is still less painful than the venom stings.  
The bowl fills with venom after only a few minutes, and Sigyn quickly casts out its contents over the chasm below. In the meantime, a single drop falls again on Loki, causing him to let out a blood curdling scream. Sigyn startles and almost drops her bowl, but quickly places it back in position to catch. Her tears are still pouring out of her eyes, clouding her vision; she wishes they could act as a relief to him somehow, but knows her only hope is to keep the venom off him.  
“Your arms will tire dear, and you’ll be left to die with him; if you so wish, I will let you live!” Odin yells out to her, over the roar of the waterfall and Loki’s hushed cries. Sigyn snaps her neck back to look at him.  
“No order, or station, or lover you send me will ever be satisfactory! I claimed I would die for him, and I intend to honor my word!” Sigyn lets her heart speak for her, taking a moment to empty her bowl again.  
“Very well. Then here you shall remain, oh Goddess of Fidelity!” Odin gives her the title for her constant faithfulness to her word and to Loki, even if Sigyn’s naivety will lead to her end, and orders the pilot of the ship to return to the palace.  
The night creeps on, and Sigyn is alone with Loki on the stone. Odin was right; her arms are getting tired, and she doesn’t know how much longer she can hold her bowl to protect him. She can’t bear the thought of leaving him to die, and can’t imagine letting him suffer for even a moment while she rests.  
Sigyn stays up all night, holding and emptying her bowl, praying with every drop she catches to Frigga’s spirit, seeking guidance.  
As dawn breaks, the sun brightly shines on the rock face. The great serpent above, still dripping venom, closes its eyes to the light. Sigyn takes the opportunity to search her eyes on their overhang, looking for anything that could end this misery – either by ending Loki’s life herself to free him, or somehow slay the monster above.  
The sunlight strikes an angle in such a way that a glare hits Sigyn’s eye; she peers into the brush above Loki’s bound hands; behold, a small sword! A likely token left by another victim, Sigyn only needs an opportunity to take the weapon. The bowl in her hands shakes with every passing drop; her arms are so weak, she is now concerned that she will not be able to lift the knife, even if she could reach it.  
“Loki, Loki I can save us...” She whispers the words, knowing that the serpent could understand if she revealed her plan. Her excitement over the idea has given Sigyn a small boost of strength, perhaps enough to execute the madness she’s concocted. She knows that if the course does not succeed, they will likely die here, in pain, alone.  
‘But how am I going to get the venom to stop?’ It is the only part of her idea that isn’t solid. Until she remembers her final secret, and the brooch that faithfully holds up Loki’s cape around her slim waist. Holding the bowl as steady as she can with one hand, she lifts her robe with the other. Sigyn quickly fumbles at the brooch, desperate to get it free. But when the guards threw her so carelessly into the dungeon, the clasp bent, making the process more difficult than she estimated.  
The bowl fills again. Sigyn lets out a growl of frustration as she empties it once more, holding it a final time above Loki’s face. She talks aloud, ‘Please unlatch, please unlatch,’ until she feels the pop of salvation in her hand. In a savored and brave moment, Sigyn takes a deep breath, and pulls the brooch out of the fabric. In a swift upward thrust, she throws the brooch pin into the serpent’s eye.  
A terrible hiss escapes the creature, and the injury forces it to rear the ugly head backward. Sigyn has seconds. She lunges forward to reach the sword, only to trip on the now loose cape beneath her feet. She falls, hard, on the stone, scraping her forearm. Sigyn bites her lip to the point of bleeding. ‘You have to keep moving,’ she tells herself, and makes one more forceful step.  
Sigyn grabs hold of the knife just fast enough to turn on her back, facing the approaching serpent. With a single push upward, the sword penetrates the snake’s head, all the way through. Sigyn doesn’t let go, and stands. Her strength is nearly spent, and she can hardly hold onto the sword’s handle as the snake thrashes.  
“Say goodbye, foul creature!” Sigyn declares in victory, and uses all of her strength to push forward with the sword. She pulls the snake’s head past the threshold of the cliff, and lets go. The monster’s weight pulls the rest of the almost never-ending snake over the edge, and she watches it fall into the chasm, smashing on the rocks below.  
Sigyn rests her back on the stone, closing her eyes, panting. She smiles in victory, but that smile quickly morphs into a crying grin. The now all-too-familiar tears flow off her chin, dripping all over her. When Sigyn finally opens her eyes, she peers at Loki, the man she loves, the man that she is on this cliff face for.  
“Sigyn, Sigyn is that you?” Loki is delirious, but wants to hear her voice. His face is burned heavily, and he still cannot open his eyes. Sigyn reaches her hand out, touching his face.  
“Yes, yes Loki, I’m here, you’re safe,” she reassures him. Sigyn pulls his cape off the ground, covering his shivering figure. She stands and goes to Loki’s hands, noticing the complex knot tied by the guards. She doesn’t know if she will be able to untie it, so instead she finds the sharpest rock nearby and saws away at the twine.  
“Sigyn, Sigyn are you there?” Loki is slowly coming to, but cannot hear her presence. She grabs his forearms as she saws away, hoping that one day he’ll retell this story, far in the future.  
The twine frays slowly, but eventually snaps open, releasing Loki’s hands. Sigyn pulls his arms forward, knowing that his left shoulder is misplaced; she is prepared for the outcry of pain that he bellows at her. Placing her foot on his chest, she holds his hand tightly, and twists with every last ounce of strength she has left. It pops back into place, forcing Loki to barre his teeth but also breathe a relieving sigh. She saws again at the twine around his ankles before finally resting, collapsed on the cliff face.


	22. Into the Unknown

The sound of the waterfall is calming and loud. The constant flow is a complex hum of bubbles, scrapes, and the rushing water. It is a pleasant sound compared to the neverending ring that screams in Loki’s ears, slowly bringing him back to life.  
Loki can now move both his arms, though the left side is still sore, crackling at the smallest gestures. His face burns, but he attempts to open his eyes. The sunlight is bright, but it is welcoming after so much darkness. Though his entire body prickles and aches, he sits up.  
The first thing he notices is the green cape, protecting him from the cool mountain air. He remembers hearing Sigyn’s voice, but thought it was a dream. His eyes, still weak, search for her on the rock, and he sees a small, gray heap at his ankles. She has torn off part of her robe and wrapped the shreds around his feet; the closest thing to shoes that he has had in days. Her tenderness never ceases.  
Loki gathers enough strength to stand and make his way to Sigyn. Her exhaustion is evident, as her breathing is shallow, and her body shivering. Loki lifts her over his good shoulder, and carries her into a nearby cave, resting Sigyn’s back on the stone. Loki goes back out onto the rock, questing for any source of nourishment; a dried bush of small berries stands out from the cliffside, and he recognizes them as safe. He takes a handful, and brings them to Sigyn in the cave.  
He sits next to her, letting her rest, but cannot wait any longer as the sun begins to set.  
“Sigyn, it is time to wake up...” Loki nudges her softly, watching her eyes slowly flutter and open. She smiles when she looks at him, and raises her hand in her usual fashion, caressing his now short hair.  
“You are no less beautiful to me,” she says. He holds her hand against his cheek, reminiscing of their days in comfort and privacy, before they were exiles of Asgard. He shows her the berries, and she feeds them one by one to herself and to Loki in turn.  
“Where do we go now? Where can we go?” Sigyn’s questions are an honest concern for their welfare. If Odin sentenced him to death, could he ever return?  
Loki stands and holds out his hand for Sigyn. She rises, taking the green cape in her left arm, and him in the other hand. He leads them down the cave, deep, into the darkness beyond.  
“I have something to show you, my love.” Loki smiles widely at her, and looks ahead. Sigyn follows his gaze. Her fear is overpowered by her trust, passing together through a portal to another realm.

**Author's Note:**

> This piece is part one of a trilogy in novella fanfics. Part two is also finished and will be posted. Part three in progress!
> 
> Comments are GREATLY appreciated, thank you so much for reading and the kudos!


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